The Woman
by Avalon-Shiranui
Summary: Mariyah had nothing to offer her culture but questions and restlessness. When her childhood friend Ahmed is exiled to the North, she follows her father, Melchisidek, and finds a journey ahead too strange for anything less than incredible. But will it also lead her to fate's intentions at last? Herger x OC pairing
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: This is not intended to be historically accurate. Its aim is to be parallel to the film more than real facts.

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Prologue**

"Allah is the Protector of those who have faith: from the depths of darkness He will lead them forth into light."

_Quran_, 2.257

When I was a child, my mother would tell me that life was but a series of events cleverly disguised by fate as choices. If ever I asked her what it meant, she would simply say, "In time." She had a smile that suggested knowledge vastly beyond one's own, and I always believed it.

My mother did not believe in Allah. I never saw her pray, not once, but no one seemed to notice. She wore what was expected, behaved as expected, and fulfilled her duties as wife and mother were expected. She would bow her head respectfully but never speak. I wondered if she spoke in her mind, but as we grew older, I realized she was a non-believer.

I never thought less of her for it. I had my own doubts, and she encouraged my curiosity no matter where it took me. It was not until years later that I learned to appreciate how she prepared me for what would come, but part of me never forgave her for those troubled years without her.

Just before my twelfth birthday, fever struck her, and Father would not let me see her. I could still hear her through the walls, wailing at apparitions, until one night they woke us both. I watched from the doorway as he soothed the terror, her pallid skin clammy even in the dark. She called to me, but I would not come. I couldn't, not to a woman who suddenly looked so foreign to me, and stationed myself further in the hallway. My father summoned me once she calmed, and I edged closer.

She smiled that smile. It was weak but familiar, and, when she stretched her hand toward me, I took it. "It's an illusion," she whispered. It was all the voice she could muster. "None of this is real, Mariyah." What wasn't real? I couldn't form the words, and she soon drifted back to sleep.

And in the morning, she died. I don't remember the funeral well. Part of me wanted to see her one last time, but the rest was grateful I still envisioned her alive, clapping her hands to my dance.

Father struggled for years to truly accept her disappearance from our lives. Meanwhile, I reached physical adulthood and began tutelage expected of our women. I resisted more than the others, permitted early on to express my feelings and think independently. It became a game of wits, where persuading people earned me greater recognition than even my instructors.

I was not entirely alone in my suffrage. My oldest friend, Ahmed ibn Fahdlān ibn al-Abbās ibn Rāšid ibn Hammād, spent most of his days in our home or talked his way into some eclectic romance. The other girls loved him, but he was a brother for me. Our faults and strengths complimented each other well, and my father supported help managing the household.

Then there was Shireen. We met during decorum schooling, and I was instantly drawn to her skills as well as her obvious affection for rule breaking. We became fast friends. Unlike me, Shireen came from a strict household; she was the rebel child and defended that title proudly. We planned an escape more than once, but something always came up until we grew too old for any serious plans. We plotted anyway.

I found passion, too, in the form of unquenchable obsession. My father took Ahmed and I to court in support of the new Caliph, al-Muqtadir, and an exhibition was held. Soldiers performed impressive duals and reenactments with various armaments, from archery to sword fighting, as complex as mounted combat down to the quickest fisticuffs. I craved the ability, to feel that kind of speed and prowess.

My father laughed at the idols of his fourteen-year-old daughter: "Such pursuits are not suited for a lady, Mariyah." But I would not be denied.

Shireen helped me slip away time and again so I could spy on the soldiers. Weeks I mimicked their movements in a hiding place or the privacy of my room. It took time without basic instruction, but I learned fast. Though my father caught me performing in our courtyard one afternoon, he was impressed enough to arrange mentors, so long as I ceased skipping on my other obligations.

Ahmed headed my education in poetry and writing while my father explained linguistics. I mastered the text of a dozen languages and fluently spoke seven, all before twenty-five. Shireen never put stock in knowledge, despite her own cleverness, and prompted many breakouts from long lectures.

Nonetheless, my training always came first. Much of my youth and young adulthood consisted of long hours at practice or performing in our courtyard. Father brought in only the most trusted instructors for our secret. My eagerness was voracious, sometimes taking on as many as three or four styles a day, but I could not resist. I thrived at it, and it was the closest to freedom I had been since my mother's death.

At eighteen, my father received a marriage proposal for me. Dizhwar ibn al-Dinawari ibn Hasan ibn Abu Talib, a young soldier and upcoming political figure with the resources of a father acting as general for the city's army. The idea of growing old with some stranger bothered me, and I thought to refuse. Instead, I disguised myself as a soldier and attended one of the Caliphate's demonstrations. Dizhwar was handsome but arrogant, yet I challenged him without reserve.

I lost, but what a duel it was. He impressed me more than expected, especially when I revealed myself in secret and he still praised my skill. We agreed to marry as planned, and I felt confident in the arrangement.

General Dinawari did not feel the same. He discovered our well-kept surprise and forced Dizhwar to withdraw the offer. Rumors started, and the truth came out. Dizhwar encouraged me to continue my passion. I took his advice but abandoned hopes of a husband after he married the daughter of a foreign ambassador.

Al-Muqtadir funded my training despite gossip, provided I entertain at all his events. My father advised against it, but I agreed and dedicated all my energy to that end. Each year I learned a new aptitude, sometimes two, and at twenty-five I gave up coaches to hone each skill, though my arrangement with the Caliph continued for another three years.

Seventeen years passed since the first demonstration, and still I practiced every day, infatuated with the profound autonomy it brought me. By thirty-one, I put more effort into looking after my father and friends but could never shake the need for a weapon in hand. Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing it as freedom but a test that's purpose eluded me. Allah gave me this forte for a reason. What worried me most was wondering if, when the time came, I would not rise up to meet that end.

My family and I lived and were comfortable with our ways, but things would not always be thus. I could never have imagined what fortune lay so close.

* * *

"Mariyah!" Shireen waved as she bustled down the street to catch Mariyah entering her front gate.

They looked scarcely alike yet obviously similar even in their veils. Shireen's amber eyes gleamed more gold than any imaginable shade of brown Mariyah's dark stare might attempt. They stood the same height and relative size, but Shireen sported noticeable curves. She also wore different colors. They both favored brights, but Shireen liked oranges and greens while Mariyah preferred blues and yellows. Their personalities were very much opposite outside of their mutual dislike for boundaries.

"I'm glad I caught you! You're not about to practice, are you?"

"No, I wanted lunch first."

"Perfect!" Shireen pushed ahead, and Mariyah closed the gate behind them.

The courtyard traveled a circle around their two-level home with walls high enough to keep out most of their grounded neighbors. Melchisidek managed a vegetable garden on one side of the house and fruits on the other whereas the entire front was left for her practice. A small crate sat locked in a corner where most of the tools were kept, and three dummies stood at the other like centurions. They had not done much else, leaving her plenty of room to work out even the most complex routines. She lacked a target board for archery, but al-Muqtadir's accommodations were more sufficient.

"What brings you here, Shireen? Not lonely already, are you?" Shireen married a silk tradesman years ago and invited Mariyah over whenever he traveled. She was not forlorn but bored without Nafasat; he doted on her unabashedly.

"Not for at least another week. I came about Zehra! Did you see her at Ṣalát this morning?"

"I saw her."

They went inside, and Shireen instantly pulled off her veil. She was fairer than Mariyah and kept her hair in a perfect braid that reached the middle of her back. Mariyah was dark with sun and left her charcoal locks draped over her shoulder. Shireen's hair was also straight and glossy; Mariyah's spent too much time outside and adopted a thick, wild wave over the years.

"I swear she only visits the mosque for that el-Amin."

"What's wrong with Amin?"

Shireen loved gossip, and Mariyah prepared lunch as they discussed other ladies of society, preferably the younger ones who scrounged for husbands with aggression unbecoming of their sex. Shireen shunned most men as well, convinced hers was the only decent one left, but Mariyah always argued. Her mother had a tendency to think the better of people, and Mariyah usually did when Shireen started her tirades. It made little difference if she agreed with her friend; it simply felt malicious to say mean things of someone behind their back. She, after all, knew the sensitivity well since General Dinawari outed her some ten-plus years before. She had not grieved his recent passing.

It was not until Mariyah cleared the remnants of their lunch that Shireen finally made her true intentions clear. "I confess, Mariyah, my purpose is much more important than simple scandal."

Mariyah grinned teasingly. "Since when has hearsay not been purposeful enough for you?"

Shireen ignored her. "Al-Muqtadir's ear is being poisoned."

"He enjoys the feeling, I'm sure," Mariyah scoffed. He had given her the means to pursue her passion, and she was grateful, but his aid was purely selfish. It took great efforts to free herself of their bargain, and she had not forgotten. She obliged his requests from time to time, but things were tense between them. He cared for no one.

"Against Ahmed."

Mariyah met her eye. Shireen spoke honest. "Why would someone lie to the Caliph about Ahmed?"

"I don't yet know, but it would be wise if he kept from drawing attention for a time."

"He's quite good at that," she answered sardonically, and Shireen nodded agreement.

Ahmed would not like Mariyah passing along rumors, but Shireen was right to worry. He was handsome and intelligent, a favorite among women and scholars alike. Al-Muqtadir might rest easier if such a draw were removed from his rivalry. Ahmed held no political standings, but the Caliph disposed of other irritations with less influence than Ahmed.

But who gave him the idea?

* * *

Mariyah opened the chest of assorted weaponry and scanned the options. The diverse collection took years to acquire; several were trophies from exhibitions won for the Caliphate. Every item was neatly placed for easy picking. On the bottom: a Roman Xiphos sword, three Persian Shamshir sabres, two Roman spatha swords, eight Greek acinaces daggers, a throwing axe of her own design, two Greek harpē swords, and a Roman gladius. Fastened to the underside of the lid were six Chinese rope darts, four Japanese suriyin projectiles, a Turkish bow, and two Indian chakrams. A rack of longer tools sat beside the chest, holding up two Roman verutums, an Egyptian naboot quarterstaff, and three Chinese gun staffs. Truth be told, she favored Roman craftsmanship over all others.

But she took the chakrams and closed the trunk. The sun hung high above, and the warm wind barely blew. Her body moved perfectly with the cut of the metal disks as they practiced movements long mastered toward the melon propped on a dummy across the courtyard. It was one of the first weapons she had learned and was popular at demonstrations, the way they sliced through cane as easily as human limb.

She performed mechanically, her thoughts consumed elsewhere. She did not know what to tell Ahmed. Shireen engaged in all sorts of talk, fueled by their possibilities and never shunned a good fowl up. The fact that she cautioned the hearsay proved reason for concern. Mariyah and Ahmed knew each other a long time; their loyalty was unquestionable.

But Mariyah worried over the sudden interest in Ahmed's recent exploits. His cleverness kept him out of trouble more often than not. Even his well-recognized flaws were excusable under most circumstances. Why would that change now? What did people suspect?

She pitched the chakrams, and the built-up momentum caused the first to lop the melon from the dummy's head while the second cut it down the middle. Each half plopped to the dirt, and the disks lay at rest. A perfect execution. Allah, would venomous words result in Ahmed's own beheading? She must tell him.

Applause drew her eye, and she relaxed at her father's warm love. Melchisidek became an old man since his wife's passing, but Mariyah remembered his thick dark hair and large brown eyes on a handsome face barely over forty. The strands were all gray and white now, and his gaze held the age of a well-wrinkled face. All the same, his gentility gleamed through, and she smiled.

"You don't believe in conflict, abbi, so why applaud?" (father)

"I find myself converted in your presence," he teased and stepped closer. "You always make it appear more a dance than attack."

"That's my trick," she winked, and they shared a laugh.

But he never wasted time getting to the point. "I need your help, Mariyah."

"I'm always at your service." They relied heavily on each other; she denied him little.

"With Ahmed."

She smirked and retrieved the chakrams. "I sometimes wonder who your real child is, abbi."

"But there is no question which is my favorite."

They smiled, and she placed the weapons back in the coffer. "Shireen has already told me of ill words against Ahmed to the Caliph. Is that what you speak of?"

He motioned her inside, and she obliged. "Do you know Shaharazhad?" Allah, a woman again! How many did that make for her oldest friend?

"I know her husband. He orchestrates entertainment for the Caliphate. Clever, but short-sighted." Was Ahmed her tutor?

"It seems he is the jealous type."

* * *

"How could you be so stupid?!" Only in the privacy of her home amongst the only honorable men in her life would she be so honest, and the anger pumping her veins seeped through every level of civility expected of a lady. "A _married_ woman, Ahmed!"

Ahmed stood against the wall, arms crossed, and spoke through his teeth with nostrils flared. He didn't appreciate being reprimanded, least of all by his close friend. "A woman's beauty has great power over those around her. I'm sorry you don't know what that feels like."

Sarcasm, as usual. "Poet and jester—how could she resist?"

"I'm competition, at least."

Insult now. Anger would come next, but she was already there. "You're naïve or vain, and I'm not sure which is worse."

"_I'm_ naïve? _Me_?" She bolstered herself against the harsh words to follow. "You're old enough for grown children, yet all you think about is twirling your sticks around, as if you will ever see battle! _I_ don't know what's worse, that you waste your life on nothing or that you have nothing to show for it!"

"Would you forget Dizhwar? For _once_, let's not go back to that; it was thirteen years ago."

"And no man has offered since. Why do you think that is?"

Too far this time. She accepted long ago that marriage would never happen, but her own insecurities convinced her it was her own fault, that no one would want such a woman. Hearing from someone else, however, struck a nerve, and she met his defiant pose. "Maybe they're afraid of the repercussions if they upset a woman trained to_ break bone_."

He blinked at the dangerous allocation, and she lifted her eyebrows challengingly. Let him wonder.

"Enough fighting." Melchisidek stepped between them and raised defensive hands. "This will solve nothing, and you will both say things you do not mean." Their childhood was full of identical arguments, often about variance in opinion rather than dispute of action.

But she ignored her father and kept her dark gaze on Ahmed. "Did you do it?" The directness surprised him, but she would not desist. A person simply did not mess with another's family. "Did you do what they say?"

He hesitated then ducked his head. Shame, but at his actions or at giving people reason to tittle-tattle? "It makes no difference now."

She opened her mouth, but Melchisidek interjected, "I agree." Mariyah snapped her surprise and disapproving glare to her father, but he gripped Ahmed's shoulder. "Allah may yet have a plan in all this. To that end, I will accompany you."

Al-Muqtadir appointed Ahmed ambassador to the lands of the North, but the promotion hardly disguised the intended exile. The chance of Ahmed ever returning was less than scarce, and now her father not only opted to forgive the indiscretion that brought on such judgment but join him! Her mouth hung awkwardly, taken aback by the impetuous decision, but she snapped it shut when his gaze returned to hers.

She gave him her hardest glare, but he stood undaunted. Before more abusive words could find her lips, she stormed upstairs and locked herself away.

* * *

The sun disappeared hours ago, and she had been practicing since the early stages of setting. The sweat felt cool in the night, and its combination with her burning blood fused her onward. Many of the weapons lay disregarded in the corner while the harpē performed now. She pushed physical limit to drive out the anger plaguing her every thought, but as the feelings continued, so did her rapid, hostile movements across the courtyard.

Truth be told, she was angry with Ahmed and his complete disregard for a household. While Mariyah didn't believe he and Shaharazhad crossed any physical boundaries, she knew they upheld an emotional one that decent people simply would not sustain under the circumstances. He knew better. But her true fury was reserved for her father. He relied heavily on her to help him maintain his homestead, but at times her opinions were ignored in favor of Ahmed's advice. Not jealousy, if the reasons had been logical. They weren't, and neither was this one. All her life, she would be trapped by limitations Allah endowed upon her.

"Ahh!" Mariyah threw the sword, and it planted hard enough into the dummy's chest to crack the foundation pole. It was not her fault! She just wanted to be who she was, nothing more! She marched over and yanked the harpē free with unnecessary hostility. Why could people not substitute what she was for who she was?

The pain in her torso ebbed away the resentment, replacing it with despondency. She would never be free of this restlessness. Ever.

"You're not usually so aggressive." Her father's voice froze her, but his footsteps did not approach. "Are you that annoyed with me?"

Her hand gripped the sword hilt. She wanted to confront him too badly.

"Ahmed is part of our family, Mariyah. No matter how they hurt us, we never abandon family." He sounded so warm, so understanding, and his calm only pushed her over.

"If I had been born a son," she turned on his perch in the doorway, "would you have thought to discuss your decision with me first?" She was his child, not Ahmed! She was still there, not Ummah! (mother)

"I love you both," he answered gently, "and I have done all I can to give you every opportunity of a son." He was right, as usual. "You've always been the most affectionate, my darling, but you must overcome these feelings. You must learn to accept Allah's will, no matter how grave it may appear. Some things are simply out of our hands." She realized then that what she hated about his disregard was that he had chosen to leave without a second thought. They shared a life together, were a team, and now he chose to follow Ahmed while she remained behind. She felt abandoned—and ferociously bitter.

She dropped the harpē and walked toward the house. They could not do this.

"Mariyah—"

She walked past him without acknowledgment and ignored his summons as she mounted the steps back to her room. They would not leave her behind just because she was a woman. Her life was not out of her control!

* * *

Mariyah strapped the last harness then leashed her own load on the saddle. It was barely morning, but the caravan would leave soon, and so would her father and friend. She performed the task with newfound calm, though the resentment still festered. She had been up all night reviewing options until the only plausible one dismissed the rest. If her father did not approve, then damn him, and to hell with Ahmed either way.

The front door opened, and the men stepped out. Their feet brought them across the courtyard and out the front gate, and her back was to them as they stopped. A few moments of silence told her everything of the response that would ensue, but she kept about her task without facing them.

"What're you doing?" Ahmed sounded confused, and she took the reins when the last parcel was secure. "Nonono, you are _not _coming, Mariyah. A journey like this is no place for a woman."

It was no place for a wise-cracking poet and an old man, either. She slipped her foot in the stirrup, hauled herself up, and steadied the steed. Without a word, she slid back to make room and glanced at her father. Ahmed redirected his attention, also.

Melchisidek did not break contact with her, however, and chuckled. "I don't think we're in a position to argue." His agreement was unnecessary but appreciated, and he mounted in front of her.

Ahmed gawked at them both, and Mariyah smirked down her nose at him. The roles were reversed, and, once again, she proved herself more resilient than her opponent. He squared his jaw, knowing defeat, then sighed and climbed up the other horse.

As they rode away, she looked back numerous times until the second level of their house was no longer discernible. Untold perils lay ahead, sights and people she could only imagine in her outrageous dreams, and who knew if they would ever return.

She already longed for the safety of the courtyard.

* * *

I chose to follow my father in his self-inflicted exile far to the North. Even still, I found myself unable to relinquish disapproval even after the many months of journeying with the caravan. Ahmed acknowledged my temperament with apologetic gestures but settled into the unbreakable silence after the first few weeks. My father still treated me as if nothing changed.

The further we traveled, the more a strange feeling settled over me. A change, not only in surroundings, but in my own mind. The wordlessness and long days of persistent travel spurred an insatiable pilgrimage of thought which plagued me like a hole in the roof, filling up until it began to seep out the crevices.

I doubted. Would we return home from this ever-shifting landscape of strange peoples? What would become of us if we did not? What would become of us if we did?

How could Ahmed commit such disdain against the respectability of his family? When would my father see how he had condemned us to reckless abandonment? Why had I followed? Where would I turn back?

Illusions, all illusions. Was family an illusion? Trust, honor, nobility, home? Was my whole existence just an illusion, forged from nothing and meant for little more?

I wanted to believe I was destined for something greater, but the thoughts entangled themselves in every moment, even penetrating into my restless dreams. Until silence was no longer my protest, but my prison—a reminder that words were as meaningless as spending one's life striving for a future that did not exist.

But fate, it seemed, detested reticence, for as I began to lose hope in our aimless voyage, I came unto a path that left me nowhere to go but forward. That day, fleeing the Tartars down the sandy hillside to the rocky beaches below, our caravan spared by a mere touch of providence, Death brought me a gift.

A choice, cleverly disguised by fate.


	2. Chapter 1

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Chapter One**

"A Muslim who mixeth with people and putteth up with their inconveniences, is better than one who doth not mix with them, and bear with patience."

Prophet Mohammad

Mariyah considered the tools before her. She had seldom been granted socializing with strangers in a public manner, so the proper accessories for interacting with barbarians provided some difficulty to choose. She reached out and lightly stroked the golden bangles. Too much?

Someone entered, but she did not turn at her father's familiar footsteps. "We will seek answers in the main tent," Melchisidek informed absently. He always told her things without thought of consequence, and lack of a response from her had not changed him. "Perhaps our journey has led us to our true calling, yes?"

She dropped her hand from the bracelets. The idea of spending prolonged time with savages destroyed any whiles for impressive appearance. Instead, she swiped up a dagger and faced him, thinning her mouth disapprovingly.

He glanced to her just then and chuckled. "That is why we have come, my daughter, to observe the cultures of barbarian peoples. Ahmed will need our help, you know he is not a graceful man, even if well-educated." She smirked and made to follow after him.

He stopped at the exit and motioned to the blade. "No weapons, Mariyah. We are ambassadors, not warriors." She frowned but turned to place it back on the table. He nodded approval and departed, and she tucked the steel up her sleeve then secured her veil and exited close behind.

Ahmed glanced at her and nodded, and she refused reaction until he awkwardly fell into step beside Melchisidek. At his back, she scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out. Age did not change her childish tendencies toward him, not that he deserved any better under the circumstances.

Ahmed feigned no notice. "What do you suppose the potentate of this camp calls himself?"

"Oh, Emperor at the very least."

"Hm." Ahmed considered the title. "Emperor."

Mariyah avoided rolling her eyes. The idea of a hierarchy sophisticated enough for an Emperor proved absurd by her observations thus far, but she deferred to her father's wisdom on such matters. He was, after all, the more traveled and learned of the three, but she still shook her head at the notion.

The tent thrived with laughter and merriment as it glowed against the twilight like a beckon of civilization. In primitive cultures, she supposed this might be considered a sign of wealth or status, yet part of her was undeniably curious.

Melchisidek turned a few feet from the entrance, and she blinked as Ahmed faced her as well. "I think it would be wise for you to remain outside."

She furrowed her brow, but Ahmed quickly inserted, "I agree. It is no place for a lady."

She smacked him squarely in the stomach, and he grunted, taken back a step. Her eyes returned to her father, whose kind smile was unrelenting. He had mastered it further during her muteness, and it bothered her how much harder it was to argue without words. She sighed and nodded, twisting away from them dejectedly. It was enough for them, and they ventured inside.

Mariyah shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Her father always said she acted too much on her emotions, but her feelings felt uncontainable of late. Not that she ever made great effort to conceal them from Melchisidek or Ahmed, but that was private. Standing outside the joyous tent and watching people stumble about and make merry, she felt as transparent as if she truly was in a room no one could see.

A woman flipped her thick red hair over her shoulder and laughed loudly as a man buried his bearded face in the bosom swelling up against her dress. They didn't notice Mariyah at all as they nearly fell into the tent.

Mariyah clenched her teeth to avoid the temptation of looking inside. She could not even make out individual voices, not amidst the foreign garble, and her ears strained to pinpoint her father's melodious gentility; but the woman's laughter sounded above the rest.

She couldn't deny the interest toward these women. They acted as they wished and experienced things she could only suppose. She was old enough to know that restraint served its value, but freewill demonstrated worth, as well. Men utilized its strengths every day without condemnation; surely women reaped the same benefits?

She subconsciously reached up under her veil and touched her face. The weather was moister here and irritated her skin. The fabrics did not help, but she could not imagine walking about as these women did with their features exposed. Did they not feel naked?

A familiar sound broke through the cheer, and the sweeping clash of steel against flesh that followed the scream sent her hand straight to her concealed blade as she darted inside. She hurried to Ahmed standing beside her seated father but looked to the end of the tent without acknowledging either.

A man stood there, tall and broad even in the candlelight, and his long blonde hair hung across his face. The large sword in his hands obviously generated the slice of exposed flesh on a fallen man beside him, knife still in hand. The victor directed his gaze to them, and his bottomless oceanic eyes brought out the severity of his squared jaw. His entire physique intimidated, and the unreadable passiveness of his demeanor impressed her as much as it chilled. Savage or enlightened, he was fearless.

He sat, and Ahmed snapped his head to her as if only just realizing she entered. "We agreed you would wait outside."

She ignored him and accepted her father's extended hand. He gently clutched the other he knew clasped her dagger, and she relinquished it. His smiling eyes put her at ease.

Someone spoke behind him, and she looked. She understood the rough language enough to know that the violence had interrupted one of Ahmed's stories that needed continuing. The man had beautiful, curled blonde hair twisted at certain areas into long braids and a full but short-trimmed beard lining a more sloped face than the leader's. His figure was slighter, also, more agreeable a build than too large or too small, but the scar running from the top of his hairline to the center of his forehead indicated vigilance beyond size. The crinkles near his eyes showed playfulness, and the glassy blue of his gaze added mischief. Definitely a handful.

He smiled but passed over her quickly as Ahmed restarted his monologue.

Melchisidek withdrew his hands, and she placed them stiffly in her lap. Amongst the frivolity now, she felt even more invisible than being outside.

* * *

Ahmed gave her the details she missed as everyone gathered toward the river. The festivities were a funeral to the fallen king, and the large man stood as heir apparent—Buliwyf. The other fellow conversing with her father was called Herger and seemed the only one amongst the North people that understood any other language than his own. They followed him and took up post behind the people as the ceremony began.

Mariyah always hated funerals, not just since her mother's death, but watched the proceedings with interest. These people proved their understanding of kingship, but how they would respect it peaked her wonder. What would be the custom to show the proper esteem?

"We will burn him," Melchisidek repeated of Herger. "In one moment he and all he owns can be in paradise. These are our gifts to our Lord, to support his kingdom in paradise."

"To take with them," Ahmed noted. She had read about such ideals that the profits of one life would carry over into the next. Egyptians were especially fond of the notion.

A woman in white was brought to the front of the procession and lifted into the air, speaking loudly words that sounded rehearsed. Herger repeated them beside Melchisidek, who translated them for Ahmed.

"'Lo, there do I see my father. Lo, there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers. Lo, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning. Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live forever.'"

The woman turned then, and Mariyah unwillingly stepped forward, pressing her hand against her chest. The woman was helped onto the ship bearing the deceased king, and Herger's voice came again, echoed by her father's.

"She will travel with him. You will not see this again, it is the old way." A man flung a torch into the vessel, and it rose into flame as if it were hungry for the fire burning it to splinters and ash.

She could not take her eyes off it, even as the people melted back into their merrymaking. Its heat stifled her, even though she could not feel it. The sound of crackling inferno deafened her, even though the festivities rang louder. The charring of flesh sickened her, even though she could not smell it.

Then she blinked against the salt of her tears and wiped them away, surprised by their reality. When had she begun crying? She turned her head from the ship, away from Melchisidek and Ahmed, and met Herger's watchful gaze. It froze her, from fear or embarrassment she did not know, but the unwavering eyes sent a tremor through her.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she spun away from them all, pulling out of her father's touch and hurrying back to her tent. When she reached it, she ripped the cloth from her head and gasped uncontrollably, but each breath boiled her blood. The combination collapsed her to the ground, and she soon broke into quiet, painful sobs.

* * *

The next morning, she felt surprisingly better, though uncharacteristically hungry. She changed and left the tent in search of her father. He would not go to Ahmed's quarters, but, if they were together, they would be at the new king's temporary lodgings. She had not bothered to bring a weapon this time and entered without hesitation. Her appetite got the best of caution.

Melchisidek sat at a table in the middle, surrounded by slumbering Northmen, and smiled as she joined him. "I trust you slept well?"

She let her discontent show completely before scouring the table with her eyes. No food or drink. Her stomach growled lowly against the famish.

"Do you intend to keep this silence up indefinitely, or just long enough to convince everyone you do not know how?" He never questioned her behavior until then, but she relaxed at the tease in him.

Ahmed entered shortly, and she felt grateful for the distraction. He placed himself on the other side of Melchisidek, bearing a cup she questioned with a creased brow, and nodded loosely to Herger as he fumbled awake across the table. "Another ship arrived during the night. There's a boy standing out there, on the bow, like a statue."

Melchisidek transmitted the message to Herger, but she suddenly straightened as a woman came in bearing a water pot.

"The boy is letting them see him."

Ahmed scoffed. "_He's in plain sight_." She poured the water into a small wooden bowl.

"They do not know if what they see is real. Something to do with the mist."

She passed the bowl along to the nearest man, and Mariyah fidgeted as she left with the remaining contents of her jar.

"Apparently, they find dangerous things, spirits in the mist. The boy was being polite, giving them time to decide if he's real."

The man drank up a big swallow of the water, inciting her envy—until he spat it out and passed it along to the next man to do the same. She watched in horror as Herger took the bowl next, washed his face, and cleared his nose. It moved to Ahmed, who pushed it away with only the slightest of touches, and Melchisidek moved it on, as well. When it crossed in front of her, her hunger no longer existed.

A commotion started just as her face winced at a boorish stranger scrubbing his face with Herger's snotty water. She pulled her eyes away only when Herger raised his voice to the incoming disruption, and her father touched her hand, causing her to face the young boy directed before Buliwyf.

"He's a messenger," Melchisidek informed Ahmed. "He comes from their homeland in the North with a message for Buliwyf." It occurred to her this shore was not their home, but now she wondered if they were adventurers more than wanderers. "He is Wulfgar, son of King Hrothgar, a great king from the North."

Her forehead crinkled. More than one king? Perhaps they did not understand kingship after all and confused it with leadership, an important title as well but profoundly distinctive from absolute ruler.

"He comes to ask Buliwyf for help. His father's kingdom is under attack, their villages destroyed. They are menaced by an ancient evil, a terror; a terror that has no name—a terror that must _not_ be named."

Silence filled the tent, and she looked to Herger for answers. His eyes were downcast but rose up at her movement. Was it fear so distinct in the pale blues, or anger? She shifted as Ahmed whispered lowly to Melchisidek.

"Look at them. What thing could affect them so?"

Melchisidek directed the question at Herger, who raised his hands and shook his head with words of refusal. "The name cannot be said," her father supplied, and she identified the emotion etched into each face amongst them.

Superstition.

Buliwyf broke the lingering stillness, and Herger continued to guide them through Melchisidek's voice. "He calls for the Angel of Death."

A hoarse voice penetrated the gathering, and Mariyah leaned closer as an old woman covered in a thatched cloak was guided to Buliwyf. Her stringy, long white hair draped around her ducked head and hung low to the ground, perhaps more so than usual with the distinctive hunch in her back.

"He calls for the Bones of Shenarical."

The woman dumped out some sort of vessel and dropped to her hands and knees as the bone fragments scattered across the fur rug. Mariyah had heard of such practices but never seen one, not even from afar. She imagined them as a child, enthralled by travelers' stories when they thought she was not listening, and the descriptions soon petrified her. But now, sitting so near and watching the old woman crawl about as if possessed, she felt only inquisitiveness. She harbored no fear at all of the raving witch.

"She calls for men in the number of the moons?" The phases of the moon?

Herger snapped something corrective, and her father understood. "Thirteen, the number of months in the year. She says thirteen men must go."

Go further north and fight off fear with superstition? Buliwyf volunteered first, and she felt relieved that they would soon be rid of the Northmen and on with their journey. Men opted for service with vigor once Buliwyf took his bone, and her father counted them aloud.

"Eight."

A man to the back. "Nine."

A hulking warrior this time, cupping a horn of drink. "Ten."

Herger slammed his drink down and stood, yelling for his place. "Eleven." She could not deny their fervor was contagious and unintentionally returned Ahmed's amused smile.

Another man, behind her, and she grew excited at the prospect of discovering the last of the combatants. "Twelve."

The witch yelled out more until everyone fell silent, the last bone high in hand. No more volunteers, no more cheering, and Mariyah glanced about at the surrounding faces, all turned in their direction, then looked to Herger again. They were not watching them. They watched Ahmed.

Her smile faded, apprehensive, and Buliwyf cut the silence once more. Herger delivered the message, and Melchisidek faced Ahmed with grave importance.

"She says the thirteenth man must be no Northman."

Her face dropped, shocked, though her father observed him with stillness. Was that what it felt like when she remained quiet? Say something!

"What the hell are you saying?" Ahmed thought aloud, and Melchisidek did not waiver.

"The thirteenth warrior is _you_."

* * *

Mariyah slammed the chest shut and leaned against it. Her hands trembled, from nerves or anger, but after a few brief seconds, she banged her fist against the hard wood. Numbing pain splintered to her wrist then receded into a tingly pinch along her fingers.

Anger. This was definitely anger. So far they traveled in support of a family friend, only to relinquish him to a hoard of troglodytes. Nothing to tell the Caliphate, no understanding of strange customs, without danger or adventure, and returning home while Ahmed risked his life to accommodate ridiculous superstition. It was all meaningless.

And now that the stars pointed homeward, her heart twisted. Back to what she knew, the routine of an aimless existence. How could she go back? The thought brought panic, and she clutched her heart. How could they go back without Ahmed?

Her father entered behind her, and she squeezed against the feelings. "Mariyah."

She moved away from the box and grabbed her veil, ready for the men to take down the tent and load up their possessions. She secured the fabric across her mouth and nose, but her trembling fingers made it difficult.

His hands formed over hers, cradling them gently together. When she looked up, his eyes showed touches of sadness. "My daughter."

She sighed, relaxing into his gentleness, and gave a weak smile she hoped showed.

The corners of his mouth tipped, suggesting it did, then he pressed them against his chest. "I want you to go with them."

Her breath stopped, yet her heart accelerated. The feeling made her light-headed and confused, and she suddenly feared that her father had seen what lay in her heart. She pulled free of him and gripped his hands in return, drawing them closer together.

He understood and gently rubbed her forearms. "I will return home, but Ahmed will need you now, more than ever. You have always been strong and perceptive, Mariyah. You will guide him." Her hands fell away, and he cupped her face, winking. "You might even find some happiness by accident."

He saw. Or always knew. Either way, the idea wounded her. She loved him more than anyone and could not bear it if he felt at fault in some way for her discontent. She opened her mouth to say as much, to tell him what he meant to her, but he leaned in and kissed her forehead. He did so when she was a child to calm her, reassure her.

Their eyes met. "Live well, my child."

She memorized his face, to take it with her in this life and the next, then nodded. Words choked inside her heart, but her mouth remained sealed. He didn't need them, and speaking might remind her she faced danger and mystery ahead.

* * *

Ahmed regarded her twice before accepting what he saw as real.

She discarded her traditional silks and sashes for men's trousers, cut down to fit her, and a loose tunic tucked snuggly inside. The usual blue covering shielded her head and face, but her slippers were packed away in the trunk returning home, and leather boots came up below her knees. She tied a violet cloak around her, covering down to her ankles, and felt the heavy fabric press against the weapons on her belt. A bow came across her back against a full quiver. She wore men's attire during exhibitions, but they were still traditional. She put together what was available now.

Mariyah came to Melchisidek as he and Ahmed stood beside his white pony, noticeably smaller than the Northmen's large transports. He smiled and accepted her hand. She returned the gesture with anxiety.

One of the men barked at the smaller animal then patted its head amusedly and struck words with his comrades, who laughed. "He thinks your horse is too small," Melchisidek passed along.

Herger joined them carrying three women on his arms. She tried not to be offended by the dark-haired women obviously of kin closer to hers than his. "Something about, 'Only an Arab would bring a dog to war.'"

She could not withstand an eye roll but turned away to keep from notice. She attached a small parcel across the saddle containing what few possessions she wished to keep close. Her father let her ride horses even as a child and always taught her that the size of the horse was only relevant if the size of the rider was significant.

Herger spoke again, and her father translated over her deliberate brush off, "He wishes to know your name."

"I am Ahmed ibn Fahdlān ibn al-Abbās ibn Rāšid."

"Eben?" She ducked her head against the pony and rolled her eyes again.

"No no, listen: Ahmed ibn Fahdlān. 'Ibn' means 'son of.'"

"Eben." He gestured his head and spoke again.

She looked up suddenly when her father touched her shoulder and met Herger's bemused stare. "Mariyah al-Qibtiyah," Melchisidek replied.

"Mary." She did not return the cheery smile.

Buliwyf spurred off, and the others quickly followed. Ahmed rounded his own steed as Herger passed along more words of wisdom. "What is he saying?"

"'Hurry to meet death,'" Melchisidek provided, "'before your place is taken.'" Ahmed mounted the horse and eyed Herger with apprehension, but Herger kept his grin, kissed one of the women, and rode off after his companions.

Mariyah gave her father a judgmental stare, and he chuckled then clutched her hands. "Hold nothing back."

She nodded, and he stepped away without further advice. Ahmed's clicking tongue brought her back, and she mounted behind him with a swift swing of her leg.

"I will not forget you," Melchisidek called to them as they rode away. "Go with God!"

"You listening?" Ahmed teased with an upward glance.

Mariyah looked back only once, making sure his face was fully etched in her, and waved. He waved back, then they were off.

* * *

Another long journey lay before us, further and further north that it seemed we crossed from one world into the next. The cold and rain and changing terrain were nothing like my home, and it took getting used to before the climate no longer bothered me.

I stayed to Ahmed at all times. We were strangers in the band, extra baggage, and we played our part at the back of the line in silence. They permitted us to eat and sit around the campfire with them, but always from a distance. I thought it intentional at first, but the intention was Ahmed's.

He studied the men, their mannerisms and customs, their camaraderie—their language. Despite my ongoing silence, he taught them to me in secret, after the men went to sleep or quietly at the end of our caravan. He knew exactly how to instruct me without any response after years of educating me. I mouthed the words, repeated them incessantly in my head, and deciphered campfire conversation alongside him.

It proved a valuable skill. Without an intermediary, the nature of their words altered. What came out no longer concerned me as much as how and whom. I learned the personalities of each man, their lives and families. Most importantly, I learned to tell them apart, even gave them nicknames: Rethel the Archer, Roneth the Honest, Edgtho the Silent, Ragnar the Dour, Haltaf the Boy, Helfdane the Fat, Halga the Wise, Weath the Musician, Hyglak the Quarrelsome, Skeld the Superstitious, and Herger the Joyous. Buliwyf was harder to name, as he kept to himself among his men, but I grew fond of Buliwyf, the Bullhead.

To them, however, we became obscure, all but unseen if not for our portion of the food. Ahmed and I shared a commonality since childhood, and it resurfaced in time as it always would.

Everyone constantly underestimated us.

* * *

Another typical night gathered round for rest and stories. The Northmen loved their tales and laughter almost as much as their drink, and Mariyah started enjoying the talks somewhere. Most of the stories were loutish or wild; feigning disinterest came easily. Tonight they toyed with Halga and a thieving of horses they thought quite clever.

"Roneth slept with her while we took the horses," Herger amused, chuckling alongside the others. He seemed to like promiscuous women and tales of fornication, or perhaps he favored the reaction from his men. Either way, she acclimated many stories ago and no longer flinched at the vulgarity.

"Blowhards, both'a you!" Skeld interjected with a grin of his own. "She probably was some smoke-colored camp girl. Looked like that one's mother." Her eyebrows flew up, surprised and affronted by the insult of any mother, let alone hers or Ahmed's.

And as if reading her thoughts, Ahmed brought stillness with two simple words: "My mother." Every head slowly turned, and their eyes upon them drifted her hand to the bow beside her. "Was…a pure woman…from a _noble_ family."

Some were standing now, mouths ajar, and her fingers lightly caressed the curved wood. "And I, at least, know who my father is." She felt her legs tighten. "You," he spoke darkly, eyes no doubt locked on Skeld's glare, "pig-eating son of a whore."

Skeld bolted across the campfire, nearly reaching them in wide paces, but she was up with a notched arrow before the men grabbed hold and urged him away. If she let go, it would still find his chest, even with the others wrangling him in.

Herger broke to the forefront of the tussle and addressed Ahmed severely, "Where did you learn our language?!" She turned the steel point and stared down it into Herger's intense face.

Ahmed lunged up, not intimidated by the rash actions, and met him straight on. "I _listened_!"

The pause lasted lifetimes, but in seconds Herger's grin returned, and he grabbed Ahmed's arms with a hearty shake. His laughter defused the tension, and the men reverted back to their whiles as he retook his place. It was over.

Ahmed's hand pushed her forearm, and she slowly lowered the bow. Her eyes drifted briefly from Herger to Skeld, disgruntled in a corner of the camp, then back to the merry man. He watched her, too, and she quivered the arrow without relinquishing him. Was he making fun of them, or just not threatened?

Ahmed dismissed himself from their company, and she rejected Herger's game. If they knew her accuracy, they would not undermine her skill. Perhaps they would feel differently had she actually taken the shot. Why hadn't she?

She had never stolen life before. Panic? Or worse: hesitation.

* * *

Sleep came with little difficulty, and she awoke the next morning ready for another day in the saddle. No one minded her, as usual, but the previous night expected repercussions. Ahmed would be foolish to think otherwise, and, now that he broke the barrier between them, she was eager to see what the men might stir up amongst each other.

Skeld took initiative. "Only an Arab would bring—"

"'A dog to war'?" Mariyah lowered her eyes as Ahmed regarded Skeld sarcastically. "I heard this the first time."

Skeld saddled irritably while the others barked and laughed at the smaller horse. She stood back as Ahmed mounted the steed then glared up at Weath, yapping like a mutt. Men, all children.

A spur and pounding footsteps spun her attention as Ahmed took off astride the white pony, bolting at speeds equal to any long-stride stallion. They jumped the fallen trees and fences, pushed through the damp grass and mud with little hindrance.

"Go go, Arab," she overheard Helfdane and noted all eyes turned on the display.

They came around now, overcoming the last of the obstacles, and charged straight for them. No longer barking, Weath drew up in his saddle as they drove closer and closer, increasing pace through the thick murk, and she stepped back in time for them to jump the larger steed and knock Weath face-first into the mud. He was surprised but sprung up with a great laugh echoed in the others.

"Come on," Buliwyf spoke and steered his horse away.

Mariyah bit her lip with a giggle and shook her head as Weath wiped his muddy face across his sleeve. These men resolved personal conflicts so much easier than other people. When Ahmed came back round, she would have to give a small pat on the back.

But a gloved hand came before her, and she blinked at it then up to its owner. Herger smiled, as he always did, and indicated his outstretched hand. She wanted to take it and only realized a second later the desire's absurdity. Ahmed had disappeared amongst the trees, and the others were leaving. Should she wait?

Her gaze lifted to his again, and that twinkle in his eye made her breath quicken. Then she grasped his offer before she could change her mind. His smile widened, and he hoisted her up as she lifted in the stirrup. He guided her hand to his waist and took the reins, spurring the animal into motion. Her other hand came across his stomach and connected with its partner.

She was locked around him, his curly hair against her face as they rode on, her hips curved to his. The sudden temptation to lean into his back sparked something inside her, but she tilted away, arms still tight. She was not one of those other women.

Ahmed came through a break in the woods and rejoined the group, taking up position behind them. His expression was victorious, and she smiled at his triumph.

"The dog can jump," Buliwyf spoke loudly from the front, and the men laughed.

Ahmed could not resist a grin, and she giggled as well, pressing her forehead into Herger's back to muffle the sound. It took seconds to realize what she had done and straighten up once more.

* * *

Next they rode the sea, caught up in the wild waves and rogue winds tossing them in every direction. Ahmed tried assuring her when they boarded that the water would be calm, and she climbed on despite her gut. She found a corner to hole up in and stayed there, not daring to stand even before the storm picked up.

Now, caught up in the waters crashing in from every direction, her body felt as sick as her mind. Nearly drowning in the Tigris as a child terrified her from acquainting with any large body of water, and she managed to avoid it for twenty-two years. Yet here she was, trapped aboard a strange vessel with men becoming more peculiar by the day.

Oh, she felt her last meal surface, and the pounding of the sea mirrored the hammering in her head. Allah, curse the seas and oceans and rivers and all who dared cross them!

"Here!"

Mariyah fought the nausea enough to peep up beneath her hood and see Herger offer a bowl. It looked warm and filled, but the idea of food reminded her of the diet that wanted back up. Still, she took it to keep her hands warm.

He pulled off his cloak, rung it out over the drenched deck, and stretched it across his arms and back before leaning over her. The incoming rain no longer flung against her eyes, even if it already seeped in everywhere else. His act was kind but not especially beneficial. What did he expect?

"Eat, Mary!" He nodded to the bowl. "You'll feel better!"

She did not see how but slowly sipped the soup. The warmth smothered the older food down a little, but nothing, surely, would squelch this head pain. She checked if he might depart now, but he still smiled at her. Her eyes stayed down after that, and her body felt sleepy by the time the soup disappeared.

How could anyone slumber in such conditions?

But she did, drifting somewhere she had never been, a place neither her home nor the cascades of land she crossed to leave it. It didn't matter. Wherever it was, it was solid land with no water in sight.


	3. Chapter 2

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Chapter Two**

"And if ye die, or are slain, Lo! it is unto Allah that ye are brought together."

_Quran_, 3.158

Ahmed disturbed a good dream, and the stiff pain she woke to made her swat him. He shook her again, harder this time, and the last remnants of slumber faded. She rolled over sharply, slapping his arm twice, and he whispered against a smile, "We're approaching land."

The news did not soften the discomfort but squashed her annoyance. He left as she slowly rose, bones popping and muscles aching at the stretch. Travel left little comfort in the way of rest, but this was like nothing her body experienced before. Another reason against the wretched sea.

"Use the rail," Weath advised, and his voice reminded her how exposed she was on the deck. She regarded him in usual silence, but he busied himself with collecting his armor instead of awaiting response. "It'll work out most of the stiffness." He pulled on his gloves and moved up.

Once she was alone in her small spot, she gripped the wooden siding and tilted back. The joints cracked and shifted, pulling muscles tighter over the extended figure, and she sighed when everything settled back into place. It might take precedence every morning.

"Careful, Mary." She straightened, releasing the rail, and ducked her head at Herger's grin as he passed. "If you fall, we can't risk rescuing you."

She glared at his chuckling back and twisted at the waist, popping things just a little more. Plague the sea and plague Northmen.

"Oooodin!" Buliwyf called into the mist around them.

The air chilled her, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, nearly hiding inside it. When had it turned so cool? During the storm, or was it the fog?

"Oooodin!" he shouted again, and the sound echoed everywhere before fading to nothingness.

The clatter of armor made her glance at the crewmen, each suiting up in familiar calm. What did they anticipate?

"Oooodin!"

Rethel shot a flaming arrow into the unknown place beyond the ship, and she drifted toward Ahmed. The flame sizzled to nothing when it struck the water.

"Oooodin!"

Another arrow, and she looked to the sky, awaiting the splash. But instead there came a _thunk_, and the ball of fire formed into a beacon amongst the fog.

"LAAAAND!" Edgtho called out, and in seconds, shapes formed then filled out into shoreline and forest.

They had arrived.

* * *

The ship came ashore, and the men unloaded expertly. Edgtho disappeared among the trees, and the others brought up the horses and helped them into the shallow waters. She remained at the bow, watching the landscape almost move beneath the fog's elusive hand. It reminded her of the desert, the way it appeared to shift around them rather than them through it. It felt alive.

"Here!" Her ears lifted at Herger's voice, but she did not turn. "You'll need this!" He spoke to Ahmed, tossing him a broad sword before swinging over the side on a rope.

"I cannot lift this!" Ahmed grunted and struggled to lift the blade.

"Grow stronger!" Herger grinned then threw his head skyward. "Well?"

Mariyah tried ignoring him by staring in the opposite direction. Why was he keeping an eye on them? She wished it annoyed her.

"After all the complaining about the sea, now you wish to remain with the ship?"

She wanted to smile but didn't. Instead, she rolled her eyes, grabbed the rope, and swung down. Her feet landed awkwardly in the waves, and hands steadied her as her legs sorted themselves out. She hated being off balance.

"Watch yourself, Mary," Herger grinned, one arm still around her. "The tide will sweep a little thing like you right out." He took her wrist with his other hand and guided her to the beach. It was different than the beaches of her homeland, muddy rather than sandy, and she gripped his fingers tightly as her balance settled over the slippery terrain.

Once they escaped the water's reach, the ground grew firmer, and she quietly sighed at the rough dirt beneath her. Much better. His arm around her fell away, but he kept her hand until she looked up at him. His lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and she nodded.

Ahmed stood a few feet from them, wrangling with the large weapon, and turned. Suddenly, she ripped her hand free and lowered her gaze. If he had not worn gloves, their bare hands would have touched. Thinking of it in words sounded naïve, but remembering the warmth even through the fabric made it feel intimate.

He only chuckled and carried on to join the others.

Ahmed blinked at him then back at her. "What's funny?" She rolled her eyes, swatted him square in the chest, and marched toward the warriors. Men were all idiots.

Edgtho came back with news of a rider, and soon a messenger arrived from the king. He led the way through the forest into mossy farmland still lightly grazed by mist. On the hill stood a handful of buildings, small by her standards but easily livable. She knew little of the architectural standards of the North people, but the dreary sight in the distance and drink-infested tent thus far left a bad taste.

The sad state left a greater impression the closer they drew. Unkempt grounds and patched roofs held up by poorly tended structures even the farm animals were permitted to roam freely. The idea unsettled her. What quality of life were these people living? Was this common, or had their troubles deteriorated even their homes?

She was not the only one with something to say. Rethel observed first, "No wall, no moat. Not even a presentable fence."

"You couldn't keep a cow out of this place," Helfdane added.

The people were drawn to their presence, some watching from a distance while others closed in for a better view of the strangers. There were so few, all as worn thin as their village, and Hyglak spoke her next thought.

"Women, children; barely a man between fifteen and fifty."

The largest building sat at the end of the makeshift road, and it obviously stood with distinction. Three levels high and adorned with conspicuous though primitive pieces of power, she admired its simplistic supremacy, but the vulgarity of its upkeep troubled her further still. Even in its place of authority, it, too, had fallen victim to disrepair. She knew then that this was not common practice of these people but a product of life's fortunes. They had all but given up.

When they reached the top, they dismounted, and she took a moment to look out over the clearing land. Trees, hundreds of thousands of them and stretched further than even the widest desert so it seemed. And the sea. From there, even the inlet of sea they traveled appeared wholesome and serene. Whatever this terror that troubled these people, it must be fierce to turn such land into a curse.

They entered the fortress, and the inside impressed more than the outside. Large decorated columns and blazing chandeliers caught attention first, but the round equality of the space intrigued her more. Not a fortress, then, but a great hall. Did this place ever make merry? The water dripping through the intentional hole in the roof peak suggested never.

"My Lord!" heralded the messenger, taking his place at the king's side as they entered. "This is Buliwyf, son of Gulliac, come from across the sea—"

"I know the man," crooned the king. "I sent for him!" He looked as old as he sounded. He sat slouched on his throne, sunken into the weight of his large furs, and spied his guests through eyes that had seen too much in their time. His long, thin white hair swept back from his face, more like straw than hair upon his head, and the wrinkles showed even beneath the gray beard. He embodied the withered state of his kingdom.

"Knew him as a boy," he rasped on as Buliwyf knelt. "Knew his father. And I know him now, grown to a man. Grown to a fine, fine man."

The woman beside him shared none of his weakness. She sat straight in her seat, her hands cupped in her lap humbly rather than complacently, and her dress was plain but clean. Her long dark hair brought out the strength of her face, yet the solid brown eyes proved more powerful. Relentless and stout. The Queen.

Buliwyf approached the king, leaning in close, and whatever he said brought fear to the old man's face. Fear that a king may one day feel but should never reveal. A fear she had only seen soldiers understand.

* * *

"You know he might be mad," Herger suggested in their awkward congregation outside.

Thus far, she and Ahmed remained ignorant of the superstition, but Buliwyf regarded Edgtho with utmost seriousness. "Be in the mist."

Edgtho took to his horse, but Herger only chuckled sarcastically. "Has anyone seen one? Has anyone seen one in a _hundred_ years?"

"They say they used to be all over this countryside," Skeld countered. "And worse, further north."

"People say many things," added Weath.

"Whatever they are," Buliwyf closed out, "unless we can track them, we need a proper fence of some sort."

Roneth nodded. "We could fashion a gate from a wagon."

"I don't want to build a fence, I'm not a farmer," Helfdane grumbled. "Let's go thrash the bastards."

"Gentlemen!"

Mariyah rounded, only just realizing Ahmed had wandered away, and looked beyond to what sparked his interest. He and Herger took off immediately, but she stayed back as the men marched on behind them. Instead, her eyes focused on the fields. Something moving, quick but small, and it ran straight. What was it?

Her face fell, and she grabbed the reins of Ahmed's horse and mounted. A child! The men turned on her as she grabbed the reins of the other horses and quickly mounted as well. She slid back in the saddle for Ahmed to join her.

They rode out of the village down the hill to the grassy fields below, and the crazed fits of a screaming child drew nearer. The boy came to a stop when they neared, and Weath and Edgtho pounced off their steeds to grab him. He was naked and filthy, like he had crawled through a trench to reach them.

"Boy!" Weath cried, earnestly touching the child's back. "Speak to me, boy!"

"Find someone who knows him!" Buliwyf ordered, but the Queen already hurried forward.

"Wait!" The boy stopped screaming and now breathed hastily, nearly gasping, and clutched his hands over his ears. "I know him." She took off her cloak and wrapped him up. If she did know the boy, her presence did little to comfort him, but at least he did not fight when she picked him up and handed him over to a servant. "There's a farmstead, just up the glen. I will take you."

Ahmed glanced back at her. He wanted an explanation, an idea to fill his mind as they followed the Queen through the forest. But he would not get any. Any anger she harbored for him dissipated many miles back, but whatever these people feared provoked something more real than superstition. They were not frightened of shadows or illusions. Whatever the boy saw, what tangible thing he witnessed, it terrified him beyond words.

They stopped some distance from the house and approached on foot. No one spoke to each other, but the men divided amongst themselves as the Queen and Ahmed joined Rethel at a vantage point further up the hill. Except for the opposite end of the structure, they could see every movement. She stood on the other side of Ahmed, scanning the area the same as Rethel while the men closed in from various entry site. They never made a sound.

Roneth led the ambush by crashing through a window, and the others hurried in after him. No cries or sounds of battle. Only silence.

Ahmed stepped forward, and her hand slapped hard against his chest the same moment Rethel bit, "_Don't_ step in front of me." He never blinked, and Ahmed drew back.

What happened? If it were safe, they should have come out by now. Nothing could kill that effectively. Had they fallen into some sort of trap beyond hearing? Her hand subconsciously touched her belt.

Then Roneth and Weath came out, blades untarnished and faces solemn. Rethel lowered his bow, and they signaled them down.

The Queen remained behind, but Ahmed led the way. Mariyah knew what waited would not be pleasant judging by the grave looks on each man's face as they passed. Helfdane touched her shoulder, and she looked up. He shook his head. He did not want her to enter. But Ahmed walked slowly past Weath and Herger, and the dark frown on Hyglak's face made her step away from Helfdane and inside.

The smell got her first, followed by the sound of buzzing flies everywhere. No, not everywhere; to the left, just through the door. The blood on the floor caught their attention next. She had never seen such blood before, not even in duals. It had been sport, not battle, and her father forbade her from taking part in any other activities that might appear vulgar. She had never even seen a child born.

So when she lifted her gaze and saw the headless body hanging upside-down from the ceiling, there was little else she could do but stare. Nothing crossed her mind for the next several moments, paralyzed by shock and horror, and the world nearly disintegrated.

Until a light _thunk_ and Ahmed scrambling out made her blink. The noise of his nausea turned her eyes from one dead body to the next. One had his chest split open, the organs of his torso exposed to the feasting insects, while a severed arm from a third victim sat neatly in a basket.

Surely we belong to Allah and to Him shall we return.

"So it's true." Herger's voice made her blink again, pushing tears through her lashes, and she wiped them away unconsciously.

"No horse tracks!" Roneth called. "They were afoot!" She turned away from the deceased and stepped back outside. It felt like walking into another world.

"The heads are missing," said Skeld. Still the same universe. "The child must have crawled into a hole and escaped."

Ahmed stood and shuffled toward them, still uneasy from his heaving. "They have been…" he looked to Herger, "gnawed upon." The arm, the chest. It made more sense than she wanted to believe.

"It is said they eat the dead," Herger responded without meeting Ahmed's eyes. Allah be merciful.

"What kind of a man could do that?"

"Twas not man. It's the Wendol." Skeld hissed at him, drawing all their eyes, and she stepped closer to Ahmed.

"They are here!" Rethel rejoined them and showed his sword, where a small black object rested against the tip. Hyglak leaned down and spat on it.

"What is it?" Ahmed asked, and Rethel caught his eye.

"The mother of the Wendol."

Skeld cried out then and swung his sword, knocking the object through the air where it hit the side of the house and rolled across the bridge just at her feet. She didn't step away but narrowed her eyes. A pregnant woman's body. The round stomach and large breasts marked its purpose, but she leaned closer as Ahmed picked it up. Some sort of metal. No legs, arms, or head, just the torso. A deity? Maybe a talisman.

Edgtho rode in at the top of the hill, and Buliwyf called up, "The trail?"

"Dies in the rocks two miles up!" Clever.

"So they are clever," Herger spoke, and she lowered her eyes.

"And cautious! And there's more!"

The men hurried to their horses, and she took a step forward but stopped and faced the house once more. Were they going to leave them there? They should be buried or even burned if that was the way. They shouldn't be left to fatten up beasts, Allah's or evil's.

"Mariyah?"

She did not respond to Ahmed and fought back wiping her eyes again. No one must see.

He stepped closer. "What is it?"

She quickly swiped her hand across her face then turned, and his mouth drew grim. He put his arm around her, squeezing her against him like he did when they were young, and urged her forward. "Come."

He guided her up to the horse, and she let him without resistance. They stopped just there, and he leaned into her ear, whispering gentle words in their home tongue. He spoke of her favorite things: fat, frumpy pillows covered in ardent violet silk—she loved violet. The deep, soft smell of a light morning rain and the sweet friendship of a free animal. She always made the strongest bond with unsavory creatures, like camels and cats, but birds were her greatest fascination. She wanted to be one.

Mariyah nodded at his tenderness and stepped free. The world was not all dark, no matter how awful the shadows. She touched his cheek thankfully then motioned him up. Another horse neighed not far from them, and she looked ahead to see Herger's eyes on her. This happened so often lately, and the feeling made her blood tingle.

But he spurred on without lingering, and the tingle evaporated. She was usually the one who broke away and suddenly felt sympathetic of being on the receiving end. Why did she care?

"Mariyah." She shook her head, ridding it of the image of pale blue eyes, and mounted behind Ahmed.

They did not ride far, just out of the woods and into a clearing amongst the hills. Edgtho led the way and directed their gaze as they crossed the grass. "To the right. The ridge near the watchtower." Nothing, not at first. Then a deer fled the trees, escaping into open terrain at a sprint.

"And to the South, the edge of the trees near the first ridgeline." More deer. Ahmed raised his hand to block the sun, but the creatures were easily discernible in the open.

"Something drove them out," Herger noted then said sternly, "Put your hand down, Little Brother." Ahmed immediately obeyed and turned from the trees. She didn't, not even when Edgtho continued.

"I believe they watch us, even now." Whatever it was, she wanted to see the heinous thing that killed those people. She wanted to know if it was true.

"If we chase…" Buliwyf began, and Edgtho finished, "they melt."

"Will they come to us?" Herger suggested.

"Farmers say they come with the mist," answered Hyglak.

"So, if there's a fog, they will come."

Let them. She wanted a face for this fear.

* * *

Ahmed found her upstairs staring out across the darkening landscape. "Mariyah, have you seen—"

She lifted the bundle of cloth and smiled at his chastising look. Stealing his keffiyeh had always been one of her fonder habits, and he enjoyed the tease even if he pretended otherwise. He took the fabric and set his hands on his hips. It only made her smile wider before gazing out again.

He cleared his throat and turned to go. "Behave at dinner."

Mariyah drew up against him, and he faced her, surprised. She hoped her eyes conveyed her mind, and he furrowed his brow.

"Surely you do not wish to miss the opportunity for the first decent meal in months? I know how much you love feasts."

She did. It was one of her beloved things as well, but being amongst them agitated her. The day gave her much to think on, and her judgments visited dark places: sadness for the villagers and those lost souls rotting in the forest; anger at superstition and the evil hidden behind fog; doubt of her own ability to understand what lie ahead; unsettling repetition of fleeting crystal eyes upon her.

"Mariyah," Ahmed spoke lowly and stepped closer. They were alone, no need to whisper, but it was soothing rather than secretive. "You cannot leave me alone now. What if they decide I am no longer needed and try to eat me?" Her eyes snapped to him, not appeased by the joke under the circumstances, but the sweetness in his gaze proved innocent.

And she giggled.

He grinned, cupped her face, and pressed their foreheads together. A declaration of victory he optimized his entire life. "You might even enjoy yourself my accident." Everyone kept saying that.

A throat cleared, and they looked to Herger standing at the end of the hallway. His hair glowed even in the lamplight, and he smiled. "Food is on the table, Little Brother."

"Yes of course." Ahmed turned away to fix his keffiyeh properly.

Herger's smile slowly faded as he returned Mariyah's blatant watch. He had looked away earlier. Would he now, if she kept on? But he didn't. They stared relentlessly at one another, and each second made her heart pound louder. Never had she met a man's eyes for so long, not even her father's. Their clarity overwhelmed her.

Ahmed finished and touched her arm. "Come." He tugged her, and she followed behind him. Still, her eyes did not leave the Northman.

Nor did he abandon hers. Nearing him sent blood up her face, and dizziness filled her head. Then Ahmed walked past, and Herger stood aside for them. When she reached him, her mind buzzed, and she finally looked away to descend the stairs. But she still sensed his eyes upon her and did not shy away as they passed. He was so close, unable to withdraw further without going out of his way, and she heard his breath.

Her hand lightly brushed his, skin against skin, and her chest tightened. Accidental, but already she knew his hands were suppler than they appeared. Warm. Her instinct should have been to recoil from the contact, but she walked on unhindered—on the outside. Inside she knew what it all meant. She was unmarried and inexperienced, expected by her people to practice the utmost restraint and decency, but the appetites of the flesh were not foreign to her. Men had drawn her eye before, and she let herself admire them in her own way.

But never like this. Never so insatiable.

They entered the great hall, and she deliberately placed Ahmed between her and Herger. Neither man showed notice, and she did her best not to stare at the golden curls. He was beautiful in a primitive way, but cravings of the body were primitive, too. She blushed at the idea. Attraction, of course, but surely not lust. Desire was dangerous and sinful. Wasn't it…?

"We are hunted now in our own land," scoffed the King. He still slouched in his seat at the head of the table. "It wasn't always such!"

Mariyah abandoned listening and instead watched Rethel prepare the watch. She wanted to stand guard, too, and see what these people saw. Her father sent her to keep an eye on Ahmed, but she was drawn to this faceless terror, as eager to understand it as she was to be rid of it. Why would she care what happened to this community? They were barbarians led by superstition and conquered by fear.

To live in fear. It eroded their village to its current sad state and doomed them to die gruesome deaths like those beyond. She could not imagine accepting such a life.

"This gentleman has the look of a great warrior." The man across the table observed Buliwyf in what sounded like good humor but showed as mock. His face was unfamiliar to her. "No doubt he's very brave. But to face the Wen, he'll need some amazing _luck_." Luck? Would luck save those farmers? Or the boy, who escaped alive but forever remembered the desecration of his family?

"Luck, often enough, will save a man," Buliwyf answered. "If his courage hold."

"Who is that man?" Ahmed asked Herger, and she took the opportunity to eavesdrop.

"The king's son."

"That may be," the Prince countered, "but wait for the Wendol one night's time and then talk to us of _courage_." He emphasized his words so intentionally, as if they could not recognize insult twined into polite lyrics.

Buliwyf kept indifferent. "I thank the Lord for his advice, though I don't recall hearing any exploits of his. Apart from killing his brothers."

The prince sprung up, knocking back his chair and spilling his drink. The rashness of Northmen no longer fazed her, and her hand did not reach for her belt. The King managed fine on his own.

"You sit down and be silent! These are _guests_ at what is still _my_ table!" The tables had turned on the emphasis game, and the Prince was gone in a flash. She admired that there was still some life left in the withered ruler. "There is a man who was at Elswick."

A servant brought an old man to recount the tale, and she sat back. Storytelling showed a great deal about someone, not just in what fables they chose but how they communicated them. The words, the expressions, the repetition, and the reaction. Liars hoping to convince others yearned to be believed. The honest ones never bothered with persuasion; their words had the advantage of being true.

This man believed what he said. He compared the enemy to dangerous animals like lions, bears, and serpents. He spoke quickly, never thinking too long on any particular part, and his eagerness to recount the tale and be done with it was obvious. All the same, a man could convincingly give a lie if he did not know it was a lie. Her experience so far made her doubt the realism of his claims, no matter how certain he talked.

Edgtho entered and whispered something to Buliwyf, who nodded to the Queen. She stood and exchanged words with a servant, and Mariyah realized what Edgtho's message meant. Fog.

"Bring me my armor!" the King called, and she was surprised when he addressed Buliwyf. "I will stand the watch with you."

The Queen spun round, and Mariyah noticed the unspoken words with Buliwyf. "My Lord," he replied, "the children will need protection. Should they pass us, then you and yours must stop them." The King saw, as well, but only smiled understandingly. His Queen knew best.

The men were up and fortifying the hall in seconds with overturned tables and bolts across doors. The King and Queen were sent away with the people inside a hidden cellar, and she wondered how safe they would really be.

Buliwyf watched them descend then put out a hand, blocking her proceeding into the main hall. "This is no place for you. If you want to help, keep an eye on the children." Never once had he spoken to her, and his first words were an order. The gall struck a nerve.

She glared and took a step toward him, hand touching her sword hilt, but Ahmed came between them. Buliwyf was not bothered and went to join his men. Bullhead indeed.

"He's right, Mariyah." She frowned at Ahmed. "I don't want to be here either, but, for now, we should do as they say." No. He was not a warrior, and she promised her father to look after him. She could not leave.

But he motioned down the steps. He and bravery seldom joined forces, save for his willingness to stay with the Northmen that suggested a change in him as much as her. How had he concealed it so well?

She paused then nodded and went below. The door closed overhead, and inside it bolted shut. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Everyone acted on edge in the dark of the cellar, and she found a place against the wall to prop herself. The space was small for so many, and she felt unease at their closeness initially. The night weaned on, however, and the exhaustion adapted her to the shoulder against hers, the bundle curled at her feet. One child crawled into her lap, and she wrapped him up without knowing his face. In time, they all slept.

* * *

Until the clash of steel threw her eyes open. The darkness disoriented her, and the bodies everywhere made her squeeze the one in her arms tighter. He whimpered, startled awake, and reality settled over her. The Wendol!

Mariyah passed the boy off to the nearest adult and stumbled her way through the black. Ahmed may be dying; he would be if she didn't help him! They had to get up there! She reached the door and yanked on the beam, but it would not budge. Only a few moments passed before a handful of others came up and helped her remove it. They shoved the door open, and she was out.

The great hall suddenly became cavernous, and her feet wouldn't carry her fast enough to the light in the distance. Someone was alive, but who? What would she find?

Herger. He stood near the entrance carrying a torch and bending over something. A body? He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand then kneeled down. She hurried to him and saw that, despite his fatigue, he appeared fine. But she could not stop it. The distress overtook her, and she opened her mouth.

"Is everyone all right?"

His eyes whipped up to her, stunned, and she let the crystal blue fill her with relief. Then he scoffed and stood, never breaking contact. "So," he smirked, "you _do_ speak." His tone held the utmost pleasure.

It satisfied her that her voice delighted him. But she broke away, gazing into the rest of the room. "Where is Ahmed?"

Herger turned like he only just remembered and stepped into the room. He tossed aside some fallen debris and announced with a grin, "Well he didn't run!"

She let out a huge sigh, and the liberation that flooded through her made her collapse to the floor. It did not even bother her that sticky fresh blood colored the left side of his face. She could worry about it later but for now praised Allah he was alive.

"Ragnar's here!" Roneth declared.

"His head?"

Roneth lowered the torch. "No."

Herger turned terse, and she recalled the man in the farmhouse. "They take the heads. They always take the heads." Why the heads?

"What about Hyglak?" Buliwyf asked.

Edgtho checked. "It's the same." Some people believed the soul resided in the eyes, that a person's power and good fortune could be consumed by taking them, but why the whole head? Ideas spun in her mind that made her queasy.

"I see none of them."

"What?"

She found Helfdane across the room as he faced the men. "None of _them_. None of the ones we killed."

"Nor do I," said Skeld.

"Not one!"

"I took two at least that could not have lived."

"As did I!" Roneth added in. "As did we all!"

"Even the Arab gutted one," chimed in Weath, and she passed Ahmed surprise.

"There was _some_ life left in him," Ahmed corrected, dabbing at his wounds and joining her.

"They carried them off, they must have," said Roneth.

"They are _demons_." Skeld's words made her glance at Ahmed's bleeding face. Demons who sought the flesh of men?

"Their blood looks real enough." For once, she agreed with Buliwyf.

The villagers came in then, and duties were distributed. First, the bodies of their fallen comrades were cleared from the room. It bothered her that their warriors prompted last rights but the strangers had not. Would they have buried Ahmed? Or her, if she died? Then she decided on thankfulness. That they sought to bury anyone showed promise.

A woman tended to Ahmed's bleeding face, and smugness dabbed Mariyah's spirits when the woman set him straight about her medical treatment. Cow urine might not be the ideal cure, but if worked before, Mariyah saw no reason to doubt.

And a claw. They found one of the beast's claws. Patched up, Ahmed drifted toward her, lightly dabbing his face. "Are you all right?"

The woman filled the wounds nicely, because even Mariyah's hard, flat palm across his face did not make the fresh cuts bleed. It stunned him silent, however, and he gawked at her with a terrible wince.

"Don't _ever _ask me to do that again." Either her words or her voice, she did not care which, left him immobile, and she marched off without further incident.

Idiot.


	4. Chapter 3

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Chapter Three**

"It is your own conduct which will lead you to reward or punishment, as if you had been destined therefor."

Prophet Mohammad

Everyone participated in building defenses: women, children, and what few men remained, from herding animals to chopping lumber to digging trenches. Ahmed discarded his robes and keffiyeh to aid the labor, and his attempts to wield the large North blade provided amusement for a time. He soon grew tired of its inadequacy and worked with Skeld to alter the blade, thinning it down to a more familiar sabre that he swung and twirled with greater efficiency.

Mariyah smiled at his camaraderie with the Northmen. Danger brought strangers together in a unique way, and they relied on his outsider's point of view as much as he depended on their lead. It did her good to see him join in their lighthearted tease.

"Is it all right for me to join you?"

Her smile dropped, and she drifted her gaze to nothing in particular. Her upbringing forbade manual labor of this nature, almost as harshly as it condemned indecency, so instead she picked a spot in the middle of the village to keep an eye on Ahmed. The sunlight beat down on her relentlessly, but its heat soothed her compared to the blistering waves of home. She could see the activity, and everyone could see her.

Including Prince Wigliff, who took the spot beside her without invitation. He reclined back on an elbow, his body turned toward her, and smiled in what one would assume a friendly fashion. She did not acknowledge him to find out.

"What do you think of all this?" He indicated the village with a loose hand wave, but his attention remained on her. "I'm sure it's barbaric compared to your own village." Only an ignorant man would assume everyone lived as he. Baghdad was the greatest city in the world, both in size and influence. Their own knowledge stretched vastly beyond the limitations of a single kingdom.

"Then there's the company," he continued. "To travel with such loathsome men must have been unpleasant." Prying for secrets or seeking an ally; either way, he figured her the weakest link in the chain. Typical. Her position in court made her privy to a great many secrets, and people attempted coercion on her for information more than a few times. At least weasels were the same everywhere.

"The people are not to be condemned for their superstitions," she answered flatly. "The violence and fear are real enough, and that is all that need concern simple minds."

"You find us simple?" Go away.

"I find the thinking simple. I have no individual opinions." Not entirely true. She had thoughts on Buliwyf and Herger, of Edgtho and Skeld and Weath and the rest. They were somehow separated in her mind from the villagers. Perhaps because they were strangers as well.

"That's unfortunate." He leaned closer, and she fought recoil. "But that is easily remedied." His finger stroked her arm.

The wormy feeling did not have time to form when she lunged up and took a step back, her eyes on his. "_Leave_."

He smirked, annoyed but not surprised, and stood. "One of your swine already spook you?" She did not satisfy him with a response, yet the smug expression he walked away with proved adequate enough for him. Her hand went straight to her arm, wiping it like a dusty carpet, and she turned away from his shrinking back.

The disgust fell against the wayside as her eyes caught Herger's yards away. He leaned on a shovel, and the sun blazed down his pale face. His gaze could easily be anywhere as he squinted against the light, but she knew they watched her. Had he seen? An uncomfortable excitement touched her, replaced abruptly by worry. What was he thinking?

Ahmed came up beside him then, breaking their line of sight, and she sighed. Had she held her breath the entire time? Ahmed's words were brief but effective, and the two men hurried off. She considered accompanying them but decided against it. Instead, she sat back down. If it were important, Ahmed would tell her.

Something tugged on the bow across her back, and her head spun round. It was the little boy from the farmstead. He had been cleaned and dressed, and his little hand on the edge of her bow no longer trembled. He didn't look at her, though, his eyes pointed downward like he might see something awful if he glanced up. He had every reason to be afraid.

She shifted around and pulled the bow from his grip. "Hello." His hands wrung together, but he did not speak. She pressed her finger below his chin and gently tilted it up. He raised his head obediently then slowly lifted his eyes as well. She smiled. "My name is Mariyah." Still no response, but he moved his lips like he wanted to speak. She moved her hand to his forehead, brushed back the unruly bangs, and stroked his chubby cheek. Her mother often did such things, and the action felt right just then.

His eyes shifted, over rather than down, and she realized he watched her bow. She took it from her back and held it out for him to touch. North people did not use such bows, but the technique was similar. He clearly liked the curve of the wood, and she preferred it for its small size. If curve caught his attention, use would bring greater interest.

"Would you like to see?"

They separated from the group, nearer the animals, and Mariyah set up a wooden target across the pin. He sat on a haystack and handed her an arrow. In Baghdad, she had three Turkish bows: the tirkeş for war, the puta for targets, and the menzil for long-range, each with its own set of arrows. The puta's brass arrowheads and the menzil's bone points remained locked away in her room. She had only been able to bring the tirkeş and its iron partners, but the puta provided better showmanship. The tirkeş would have to do.

She nocked the pine bolt, used her thumb to draw the bowstring below the chin, and stared unblinkingly at the target. Practice made her quick and accurate—the target could have been running in circles and no safer—but patience proved more suspenseful for onlookers. So she waited, narrowed in on the block of wood, and took a deep breath. It exited simultaneously with the arrow, and the thick _thunk_ knocked the target backwards off its perch and down the hill.

The boy didn't smile but eagerly handed her another bolt. She smirked and took it. "Are you sure you don't want to try?" He considered the idea, but someone else spoke first.

"Impressive."

Mariyah saw Rethel horseback in the road. "Practice defines skill."

"Indeed." Was he smiling? She could not be sure with the sun in her face, but he trotted away. "Keep practicing." Did he insult or compliment her? Everyone possessed their own way of doing things, and only her father and an audience provided compliments. What did warriors say?

The boy gripped her sleeve, and she threw a smile at him. "Let us see what else we can shoot, hm?"

"Mary! Mary!" Mariyah showed surprise at the young blonde running toward them, the same woman who patched Ahmed's face. Olga, was it? "Mary, come quickly!" She grabbed Mariyah's arm and pulled. No room for questions; urgency took precedence.

Mariyah helped the boy down and kept hold of his hand as they sprinted behind the woman. A crowd had formed in the middle of town, and most everyone ceased work to join in. She had seen such excitement before and pulled her hand from the boy's.

"Wait here." The boy hesitated, but Olga put her arms around him. Mariyah kept his gaze. "I will come back." He nodded, and she pushed on through the multitude.

Many of Melchisidek's teachings favored historical references, and he explained Roman gladiators in an attempt to deter her from fighting. It provided the opposite result, and she took to the tales so well that the gladius became her favorite and best weapon. The gladius given to her by Caliph al-Muqtadir was her most prized possession.

But she did heed one important lesson from her father's stories: the purpose of the mob. And she recoiled when she broke through to the crash of sword against shield.

A giant man swung his large sword repeatedly and slammed brutal attacks against the shield Herger raised up as he stumbled about. He was not even running from the stronger opponent but stepped round to keep from falling over at the impact of steel on wood. The redhead demonstrated no real skill with the hulking blade but resilience of power kept Herger too busy to strike many attacks of his own. Less than a minute passed, and the giant hacked off the top of Herger's defense.

Herger wobbled back to his corner with his hair awry and sweat streams darkening his tunic. The villager strode to his side with a look down at his remaining shields. Two in addition to the one on his arm; Herger picked up his last and spat. They tapped their shields twice and closed in.

The giant started strong again, nearly taking Herger's head in the first few swings, and Mariyah clutched her hands against her chest. Something had to be done. Where was Buliwyf? The friction grew louder as the redhead's growling intensified, and Herger wore thin faster than before. He had to stop this!

Herger's shield was defeated, lopped in pieces, and he let it slide off his arm as he dropped to one knee. His sword held him upright, but he leaned into it, clearly exhausted. Her hands gripped her tunic as her chest winced against tiny, painful stabbing. Yet she would not divert her eyes. He got back to his feet, still hunched against his weapon.

The giant glanced back, and she realized the purpose. The redhead worked for Prince Wigliff; the struggle had been initiated intentionally. A display of power, which Wigliff's minion certainly possessed.

Wigliff nodded, and the giant closed in on Herger. He reached him in two paces and pulled back in the same high and forceful thrust. His growl filled her head, and the stabbing nearly choked her.

"No!" Her foot jolted forward, but in that same second, Herger was up, circled around the brute swing, and chopped red head from thick neck. The splatter of blood and gasp of onlookers froze her.

What happened?

Herger faced Wigliff and tossed something. The small pouch landed near the Prince's feet, and their eyes met. "See to your friend. He was a brave man."

The whole spectacle had been planned by Herger, and Wigliff realized it, too, as his nostrils flared before he stormed off without the money. It had all been a ruse against the Prince, to what end she didn't know, but Herger risked his life for it. He almost died.

Herger turned as the crowd moved on, and his eyes doubled back to her. Surprise.

She suddenly yanked her hands flat at her side, spun around, and pushed back through the people. Her chest still ached, but she forced a smile and took the boy's hand from Olga. "Come, let us find somewhere else to play."

It was only later she discovered the lingering pain was relief. Thank Allah he was alive.

* * *

Mariyah named the boy Tafl. He did not know it meant "child" but responded to it as she pointed him in the right direction for finding his hidden friends. Still no words, but he took well to games, especially with others his age, and they didn't seem to mind. He often looked back at her, whether for encouragement or the assurance she was still there remained unknown, but she waved.

"This is no time for rest."

She jumped but relaxed when Herger sat beside her. His hair looked damp and his skin burned, but the twinkle in his eyes stayed resilient. "In my country, it is inappropriate for women to engage in such tasks."

"But we're not in your country." Was he scolding or teasing?

"I am who I am," she shrugged off. He nodded, but she had not meant anything by it. It was something to say to get the last word, but his advice held merit.

"If you don't mind the asking," he began in a tone that clarified his indifference to any impending offense, "what are you doing here? Surely you didn't come all this way just to keep an eye on Eben?"

She smiled and met his gaze so he would see. "I have spent my life following after him. Why stop now?" More than once she had gotten into trouble for going along with Ahmed's ideas, yet he still managed to persuade her into another.

"You love him."

"Of course." Something struck her, and she blushed at his bright blue mischief. "Family is all we have," she added nervously. "If protecting it requires my life, I will gladly give it." His lips tugged at the corners, and she grew warm at pleasing him. When had that become important?

He smiled fully and broke the fixation by flicking the end of her veil. "Wouldn't it be easier without this on your face?" People always wondered about their differences, but she hoped part of him just wanted to see her.

She answered factitiously, "Only my father and husband may see my face. Any man who tries must be castrated, and I would be killed."

His eyebrows flew up, then his mouth shrugged. "I quite like it."

She laughed and watched Tafl spring one of his new friends from their spot. It felt good to relax and be herself again. She never enjoyed playing the serious type.

"You laugh, too."

She turned back to him and felt a tad giddy under his huge grin. "My father says I laugh too much. I've tried to do better."

He shook his head. "Happiness is a woman's greatest asset. She can never show it too much."

She blushed, not at the flattery that intensified her smile, but his awareness of a growing truth she could no longer ignore: she felt happy, seeing Ahmed making friends of foreign worlds, helping these people, watching Tafl, being near Herger—especially the latter. But when had it started? His eyes kept her with such intensity, such life.

It was then, that very first night as the King burned, he saw her. So long she went invisible or discarded, but he saw and hadn't stopped seeing, time and again catching her gaze. It started with a look and grew in each that followed. She had powerful, new feelings for this man, and, rather than be frightened by their unfamiliarity, they emboldened her.

"What if she cackled?" Mariyah teased then threw her head back and screeched like an old woman. He threw back, too, and roared with laughter. It made her follow suit. His joy was contagious, and she loved the feeling.

"Perhaps it would be best to keep that sort of happiness to herself," he advised, and she nodded.

"I agree."

"Herger!" They looked back as Weath and several others tried pushing a cart. "Give us a hand, why don't you? There's plenty of time for women later!"

"Aye, aye!" Herger stood but winked at her. "The wife." He jogged to the men, and it was not until Tafl touched her shoulder that she realized she stared. Why couldn't she be more immune to him?

Then a repetitious gong consumed the village, and Mariyah lifted her gaze to the hills. Mist formed high in the peaks and stroked down to the trees below, but it did little to conceal the coil of fire slithering through it. The old man called it a serpent, and she saw why. A fire serpent, they said. A dragon, she realized.

The people dropped their tasks and bolted for their stations. Mariyah grabbed Tafl up and shouted at the other children to follow as she hurried for the great hall. They did not hesitate to obey, and several women joined them along the way. The Queen already herded other young and old inside, and Olga directed them below.

"Olga!" Mariyah passed Tafl to her in one movement and turned to go, but he clung to her sleeve. She saw his fear, not of the monsters, but of loss. She took him back and stepped to the side. "I have to help the others. We will protect the village."

He clutched her shoulders tighter, understanding but still unwilling. She leaned closer then lowered her veil, revealing her gentle smile. "I will come back for you, just as before. I promise." He hesitated, and she wished she could read his mind.

He nodded reluctantly, and she fixed her veil then pulled him back to Olga. Before she released his small hand, she kissed his hair. The act changed his mind, and he fought and screamed as she hurried away. Olga and the others dragged him below, but the sound hurt even after getting outside.

She reached into her horse's saddle bag and took out the rope darts. They strapped easily against her belt, and she pulled the bow from her shoulder. Her aim held true in tight spots, but never had she expected to kill. Would all her training fail her now, when it might do good?

No. She _must_ do well. Innocent lives depended on it. Tafl waited. And Ahmed, where had he gone?

"Wait." Buliwyf's hand came around her elbow, but the gentleness kept her from recoiling. "You have no armor." Was he trying to stop her again?

She glared and jerked her arm free. "I do not follow you." She continued. Armor never suited her, too heavy and too confining. Then again, she had never fought for her life, but changing now wouldn't be ideal. She needed complete familiarity with her body.

"Mary!"

She whipped on Buliwyf's booming voice, and her reflexes caught the object flung at her. A dagger, bulky for her preference yet undersized as a primary weapon. Her eyebrows questioned him.

"Before they take your head." Then he broke away.

She regarded the blade then tucked it into her belt. Taking one's own life was beyond her comprehension, but Buliwyf knew death. His offer might appeal later.

The noncombatants were cleared from the streets quickly, and Mariyah found a perch atop a lookout. The world was hers to see, and the unfurling dragon grew ever closer. Trouble at the front gate, the cause uncertain, but she felt anxious with no sign of Ahmed. Where had he gone?

It took only minutes to spot him riding in with a child behind him. He broke away with Herger, and she lost sight of them amongst the buildings. Knowing they were together made it easier to ignore their absence, and she turned her sights to the fire ahead.

The flames no longer traveled in single file but split into wings that converged on the village. The people grew silent as the last remnants of sunlight faded with dusk. Torchlight projected shadows and doom; the dragon's glow consumed the countryside.

"Allah, be merciful."

The fire mounted the farmland amongst the mist, but the individual flames were distinct. Torches, must be hundreds, astride horses. They rode to the village from either side and tossed the flames over where some fell idle to the dirt while others caught momentum in hay piles and rooftops.

Rethel fired first from his high house perch, and the enemy fired back. One struck near her hand, and she eyed the weapon. Short for a spear, and the metallic tips pointed like needles rather than arrows. Such craftsmanship showed vulgarity and strength over style and agility, but they would kill much quicker if they found a target.

Another struck near her head, and she ducked back. Her skin felt clammy; her hands trembled. Could she do it?

She raised up again and spotted Skeld reaching for a torch burning through a roof. His fingers brushed the wood but could not quite reach. A spear nearly missed his hand, but the three that followed caught him soundly in the back.

She only blinked once, when his body fell limp, then raised to one knee, notched two arrows, and shot. They dismounted dual riders, and a third bolt decommissioned the last. She sprung from the tower, rolled off the side of a house, and sprinted to the next.

It made no difference; Skeld was dead. She threw the torch back over the gate then yanked out the spear. Her throw brought down another rider, and she pushed Skeld off the roof into a woodpile. Her cloak made him nearly invisible in the dark, and she hoped the beasts would not find his head.

Mariyah clambered up another house and shot down a Wendol mounting the wall. He fell back, knocking another with him, and she picked them off one by one. Their numbers never ended, four or five replacing each one killed, but the sight only made her quicker and accurate. Her mind felt empty, and her body moved instinctively. Faster, stronger, higher, there, here, that one, this one—move move move!

She spotted two climbing the house behind Rethel and reached back for an arrow. Nothing. She dropped the bow and quiver and sprinted toward them, pulling a rope dart from her belt and twirling it with unrealized speed.

Too late. Rethel took out the front Wendol, but the second ran him through. Rethel collapsed, and the beast wasted no time going for the warrior's head.

Mariyah launched the rope, where it swung round the Wendol's neck, and sprang into a tree then down toward the ground. The motion yanked the creature off its feet, and she landed hard on the dart when she reached the dirt, slamming it firm into the tight soil. There was no time to watch the Wendol choke.

She ducked back from an enemy sword that snagged the veil and threw her off balance, but she unsheathed her gladius and swung backwards against a second attempt. Three steps brought her upright, and her blade split open his throat. He reeled back, and the gladius drove straight into his neck. His gagging didn't slow her down.

She charged another and cut him off at the knees; the next took a blade across the chest. She flipped over one, yanked a spear from a fallen Halga's back, and heard it pierce the Wendol climbing the wall as she rounded on the previous. She sidestepped the swing and slashed across the face, seconded by a thrust above the collar bone.

A woman screamed, and Mariyah cut another throat then threw the gladius. It hit the Wendol like a beast tree, and the creature fell in a heap at the hysterical woman's feet.

Mariyah took another rope dart and lashed at attackers like a whip. The movements came easily: tuck, snap, twirl, duck, lash, turn, spin, flip, yank, roll. She felt so speedy, out of control if every action were not so accurate, and nothing in the relentless enemy hindered her. The reality of it all couldn't keep up with her, not then.

Oh, her father should see her dance now.

A symphony of horns blared through the fighting, and she reached the woman just as the Wendols turned in retreat—not before her blade found one more spine. They disappeared as she yanked it free again.

The pounding of hooves dissolved into darkness, and with it, her calm. Her knees trembled, and she collapsed into the dirt before her hands released the weapons. Exhaustion, even though she barely felt winded. The thrill of battle? Thrill seemed inappropriate; the right word would not come. She rested her elbows on her knees and glanced at the woman. Still hysterical, but with tears rather than screams.

Mariyah wiped her face against her sleeve and lowered her head. The sigh calmed her aching fingers.

"Mary!" She wasn't ready to get up yet, but Herger kneeled beside her with a chuckle. Did nothing squelch his spirits? "It seems you have some skill."

Another tease but an appreciated one. "I've never killed someone." It felt strange and not at all like she expected. No grief or guilt, not even fear. She felt relieved, that she did what she could, that some were saved, herself included. Would it always be thus?

"Will you be all right?"

She noticed how steady her hands felt. Yes. Allah smiled down on her after all these years without purpose. It made perfect sense now, and she lifted her head to Herger. "I won't lose sleep over it."

He had smiled; she saw it a second before it faded into blankness. Was it surprise? She pivoted her head to find out, but his hand came against her neck. She only had time to blink before he slid to both knees and pushed his mouth into hers.

His lips felt hot, strong, but they molded over hers luxuriously. The fingers clutched her, and his thigh against her foot practically caressed. Strands of blonde curls brushed her flushed cheeks, but his blue eyes closed at the touch. Her body was overwhelmed by him, unused to the intimacy yet so reactive to its pleasure. Never had she thought to be kissed for the first time like this.

He leaned back slowly, their lips peeling apart, and it occurred to her she had not kissed back. Her body reacted but forgot to respond. Did she want it to? Yes, with absolute certainty, she wished to feel out the curve of his lips. His touch—

Mariyah blinked then gasped and slapped her palms over her mouth. Her face! He saw her face! Touched it!

Herger smirked, and the playfulness resurfaced. But he didn't speak, only stood and walked away.

What had she done? If her father knew, or Ahmed! She would be disgraced, her family shamed. Her eyes darted around the battlefield, but the veil appeared beside her. She eyed the tear-stained woman offering then took it. The woman went back to her corner.

Mariyah stared long and hard at the fabric. A rip rendered the veil obsolete, but it could be fixed easily, and there were others in the saddle. No one need know.

In spite of that, she could not help hearing her mother's words. Life was but a series of events cleverly disguised as choices. "Illusions," she had called it. Illusions of coincidence, contrived fantasies of control. What should happen always would, no matter what a person believed. Baseema had been trying to save her daughter from a life manipulated by rules.

Mariyah pulled the wrap from her head and bundled it around the veil then tucked it into her belt. Her wild black waves fell past her shoulder blades, and she ran a hand through it, pulling the strands back from her face. It had been a long time since she felt the open air down her neck, and the burning flames still enticed a sigh.

Delicious freedom.

"Mary!"

She focused on the figure running toward her and jumped up to meet him. Her arms swept up Tafl tight against her, and he squeezed her between his small arms and legs. His face was damp against her neck, and she smiled at his little ear against her cheek.

"I would have come for you," she teased. He didn't respond but clung tighter. She liked it.

* * *

Tafl accepted her order to remain with the other children once he knew she was unharmed. It proved difficult to let him go, but work still needed doing. Olga was not around, but the other women promised to look after him.

Skeld, Roneth, Halga, and Rethel. She wrapped Skeld in her cloak and let villagers take him for burial. Roneth had already been collected, and Halga sported several spears from his torso and back. Rethel remained untouched, and she kneeled over him in prayer. He would not care for it, but his stories lulled her off too many times not to say something.

"Will we all die here?"

Mariyah ignored the woman—Alwilda, she said—and shouldered Rethel's bow. She stood, walked to the hung Wendol, and cut the rope. He crashed down, smacking into the thick mud, and she pulled free the dart then approached him. Arab ropes showed superior resilience, and giving it up to a beast wouldn't suffice. She crouched to unwind it from his neck.

The headdress fell back, and she stared down into a man's face, painted black and red but undoubtedly human. Not demons, not beasts: _men_.

"What is it?"

Mariyah pulled the bear skin back over his visage and stood. "We should return to the others. Wounded may need our help."

Alwilda led the way and joined others aiding the injured. Mariyah waved at Tafl but did not stop. She found Buliwyf conversing with the Queen and other warriors. They stopped at her approach, but Buliwyf showed no surprise at the exposure, nor she embarrassment at their stares.

She leaned close, and he lowered his head. "I have one."

He glanced at Edgtho, who stepped closer. "Where?" She explained, and Edgtho left. "Weath." Weath nodded and departed also.

She sat at the table and waited for their return. Helfdane winked as someone bound his arm, and she smiled. He reminded her of her father. She missed his large hugs and omniscient grins. Would he be proud of her if she returned?

Herger entered, and she could not resist glancing at him. His playful expression centered on her, a touch of smugness at the mouth, and she averted her eyes. He sat beside her anyway; his arm touched hers.

Weath returned accompanied by Ahmed, and Herger grinned. "Did she finish you, or bring you back to life?" Who?

"A gentlemen," Ahmed answered astutely, "doesn't discuss such things." It didn't weaken Herger's humor, but Ahmed already moved on.

Mariyah maintained his imploring eyes, a painful conversation passing the silence, until she reached out and took his hand. He paused then squeezed. He never condemned her but did not always understand. This time, he forgave what eluded him and accepted her anyway. That was what family did.

Edgtho marched in, Wendol over his shoulder, and tossed it at their feet. "Three more on the fence." Helfdane stepped round for a closer look, and Edgtho pushed back the headdress with his sword.

"Looks like the mating of a man and some beast," Weath suggested and kneeled, too.

"It's a man," interjected Ahmed, and the others turned to him.

"He's right," she added. They glanced at her next, but she knew the truth. No superstition would alter what lay before them.

"If it's a man," said Buliwyf, "it must sleep. If it sleeps, it has a lair, and we have a trail."

"Attack _them_?" Herger sounded dazed.

"Is there a choice?" No. The Wendol possessed superior numbers and blind power. The villagers ran short on resources, people, and spirit. Another attack could destroy what little remained.

"Come with me," the Queen chimed in. "I know a woman who can help."

Mariyah stood, but Ahmed cut her off. "I'm not sure you should come."

Her brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Please, Mariyah." He took her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. "No more sacrifices. We will settle this; you don't need to feel obligated."

Melchisidek asked her to look after Ahmed, and she agreed. But she fought for more now: the villagers, new friends, this strange freedom. They must be protected, too.

"She comes," Buliwyf spoke up. "She has fought and lived. We may need her."

Ahmed implored her, but she smiled and nodded. Buliwyf was right. "I want to fight. You are my family. Let us defeat this enemy together." Ahmed lingered then smirked.

Buliwyf called out, "Get her a horse!"


	5. Chapter 4

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Chapter Four**

"Soon shall We cast terror into the hearts of the Unbelievers."

_Quran_, 3.151

Mariyah stayed with Helfdane, Weath, and Edgtho while the others dismounted to confer with Queen Weilew's source. What few individuals that hovered around the small camp showed deformities and lack of comprehensible thought. Weilew said the woman, Hulda, was mad, and the idea intrigued Mariyah. North people were so superstitious, the idea of them finding someone mad struck curiosity. Edgtho set out to survey the area while Weath and Helfdane grumbled to each other with sharp eyes toward the residents.

She slipped away easily and lingered behind Ahmed, just out of sight. The old woman crooned, not unintelligible but unusually. Mariyah heard the age in the throaty speech, though the surety of the words caught her attention more.

"I have ears," Hulda mused. "Warrior, says the wind. Chieftain, says the rain. But why seek you me? Met you your match? Met you your match with the Eaters of the Dead."

Buliwyf glanced back at Herger and Ahmed, and she narrowed her eyes as the Queen leaned closer. "We seek your wisdom." Wisdom was not what Hulda had to offer, but insight seemed within her reach. Mariyah strained her ears.

"Wars are won in the will," Hulda answered definitively. "Perhaps you've been fighting in the wrong field. Have you a token? A thing? A thing of them?"

"Yes." Ahmed. He pulled something from his belt and handed it to Buliwyf. What did he have?

"Ahhh." Hulda was pleased. "_They_ show you the way; you will not see. Slaughter them till you _rot_. You'll accomplish nothing." Mariyah thought as much back in the village. Is that all the woman had to propose? "Find the root. _Strike_ the will."

"How?" Buliwyf.

"This is the Mother of the Wen. _She_ they revere." Mother? The pregnant woman, of course. A deity after all. "She is the will."

"Where do I seek her?"

"She is the earth, seek her in the earth." The answer sounded dismissive, and the others must have agreed because they turned to go. She took a step back, but Hulda's voice stopped her. "And Buliwyf, beware the leader of their warriors. He wears the horns of power. He too you must kill."

They returned to the village, and Mariyah was ready to leave Hulda's camp. She loaded up her new horse's saddle with arrows then sought out Tafl. He didn't see her smile at him listening to children's stories, but it was best. They were too fond of each other, and she couldn't promise him she would return. She had never been good at lying.

She mounted her steed, too large for someone her size but manageable, and galloped behind the others. Her head turned to find Ahmed, and find him she did. Olga walked slowly toward him with a blanket pulled around her, and he trotted ahead—reluctantly? Olga's hand touched his leg as he passed, but she did not turn or speak. He hesitated then spurred onward.

His eyes found Mariyah's, cautioning any judgments she might voice, but she only nodded. It wasn't that she understood or forgave any indiscretion, but it felt hypocritical to criticize considering her own feelings for Herger. She only hoped he would show her the same empathy.

The Wendol left easy tracks up through the woods, and they pursued it cautiously. She had no skills with trailing, but even these marks were easy to navigate. The conspicuousness was almost audacious.

"A child could follow this," Helfdane remarked.

"They have no fear," Herger shook his head. "No fear of us at all."

Most animals would be smart enough to fear an enemy, but predators seldom showed such suspicion. Lions, snakes, wolves, crocodiles, even spiders. They were supreme hunters in their terrains; nothing would seek them out. In animals, it was nature's cycle—instinct. In humans, it was vanity or ignorance. She hoped it the latter.

They reached some sort of territorial markers. The wards were comprised of sticks and skins with a skull perched high on the construct, like primeval scarecrows. Their dog barked and approached the fixtures, clearly displeased.

"The dog does not approve," Weath noted aloud.

"Bear skulls," observed Herger with a glance to Ahmed. "I don't think they like company."

Mariyah blinked. Predators, markers, "claws, the headdresses." Exactly! "Bears." She touched Ahmed's shoulder, and he turned. "They think they are bears."

He caught on quickly. "They want us to _think_ they are bears. Hey!" he called to the others. "How do you hunt a bear?"

"Chase it down with dogs," Herger answered. "What—?"

"No, how do you hunt a bear in winter?" he interrupted.

"Go in his cave with spears."

"Where is a cave?"

"It's in the earth," said Weath, but Herger and Buliwyf understood.

Edgtho rode up through the scarecrows with information. "The next glen! Many fires!"

Buliwyf whipped around. "Is there a cave?!"

They traveled on foot to the glen and found camps surrounding a heavy-flowing stream. Dozens of small huts, more like wooden tents than homes, but signs of Wendol were scarce. Where had they all gone? The stream ran off down a small cliff side, and Mariyah crawled up beside Ahmed as two Wendol crossed a makeshift bridge from one end to the other.

"But there's no cave," Weath remarked. They must be nearby.

"Yes," Ahmed raised his finger then pointed down just below them, "there is." The bridge disappeared into the cliff, and so did the two Wendol.

"Straight into the rock face."

"Can we get to it?" asked Buliwyf.

"They don't keep dogs," Edgtho answered. "Maybe."

One by one they crossed the camp for the bridge. Helfdane stole a bear skin from one of the huts and fixed it on his shoulders then headed across to two guards sitting at the cave entrance. Mariyah took her bow and nocked an arrow. He reached the Wendol, who barked something at him, and stabbed one in the neck. The other stood, to run or fight didn't matter; she took the shot, and the arrowhead pierced through his open mouth and out the back of his head. For Halga and Roneth.

They lit torches and hurried on. She had never been in a cave. Melchisidek told her about them, and several of her books described caverns in varying degrees of detail, but being inside was an entirely different experience. She didn't like it. The walls felt oppressive, and her skin grew clammy at the supreme darkness within. The idea of living in such a place made her anxious.

Edgtho turned abruptly and motioned to his armor then shook his head. Buliwyf and the others stripped of their metal, and she took a moment to close her eyes. She did not like feeling trapped in this small space.

"You'd have to kiss me first, dearie," Helfdane said beside her. She glanced at him and saw he still wore his chest plate. Weath rolled his eyes at him, and Helfdane winked at her. It made her feel a little better. "Let's go!" He motioned her ahead of him, and they headed into the narrow tunnel.

The passage opened into a much larger area, similar to a great hall, but Edgtho led them along a trench winding through the room. A walkway, most likely, but they crawled on elbows and knees along the dirt. She heard the light snores of the Wendol, tinkering and flickering fires. They smelled awful.

A light tap came from behind, and she stopped with everyone else. Weath pointedly gazed back over her shoulder, and she joined him in a mental headshake. Helfdane nodded his head understandingly, and, after a few tense seconds, they continued.

More tunnels and bridges, winding and turning endlessly. She ignored the unease of the close walls and focused on the back of Weath's red head. Helfdane patted her shoulder from time to time, no doubt sensing her discomfort, but onward they went.

"How deep in the earth are we?" Weath finally asked, and Helfdane answered, "Deep enough to fall out the bottom." It certainly felt like it, but at least they had not found the ocean yet.

Another room, cavernous but not occupied. No torches or sounds of breathing, only more infernal darkness. Their torches cast a shadow on the far wall, and they approached it. The ground crackled and shifted beneath their feet, but all eyes were on the silhouette.

Another deity, the same in design but significantly larger than the one Ahmed gave Hulda. The headless neck reached to the ceiling some fifteen feet high, and a single breast was the size of Mariyah's body. She had seen pagan statuaries over the years in books and museums, but nothing of this magnitude had crossed her path. The simplicity and magnitude imposed foreboding.

"Look at your feet."

Mariyah obeyed Herger's command unquestioningly and recoiled at Weath's torchlight against the blanket of bones stretching as far as light would show. Endless collections of human skeletons, and columns of skulls as high as the statue. She took another step back, the anxiety surfacing fiercely, but Helfdane put an arm around her shoulder and tucked her close. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned into him. His armor felt cool against her cheek, and his protective hand soothed her pounding head.

"I was wrong." She forced her eyes open, and Ahmed turned from a wall of skulls. "These are _not_ men."

Buliwyf found another passage amongst the remains and descended further. She nodded at Helfdane's gentle smile and motioned him ahead. Ahmed guided her while Herger brought up the rear. Her hand longed to touch his as she passed, but even meeting his gaze was dangerous. He melted her all over, and she needed to be strong.

The tunnel came out beside a waterfall, and below was a quiet river. Across the river were groups of Wendol, four or five, gathered in their own circles and mumbling to themselves. Worshippers, so it seemed. They were getting close.

"If we cut our way through them, we will have the other lot on us." No one argued with Herger's assessment, but Buliwyf found a way around.

"Down the wall, and we swim."

Mariyah straightened. Oh God. Ahmed glanced back at her, and she forced indifference. He turned back to the men as they prepared the rope, and her head pressed against the rock. Oh Allah, Allah, Allah. She kept her eyes shut and breathed deeply, but the nerves wouldn't calm. Why did it have to be swimming?

Edgtho swung across to the other side first then Weath. Buliwyf went next, and a hand closed down on her arm. She jumped and didn't hide her feelings from Ahmed this time. He took her hand and gripped it tight.

"You can do this." She did not agree but took the rope and scooted to the edge. Ahmed kept hold of her arm. "I'll be right behind you." This was just swinging, not swimming. Get it done with!

She squeezed her eyes tight and rolled. Her body swung off the cliff, punched through the waterfall, and slammed into the rock face. She dug her fingers into the slippery earth, but Buliwyf grabbed hold of her wrists and pulled her up. The rope fell away, and he pointed her down first. She glanced over and saw Edgtho and Weath waiting.

An easy slide, and Weath caught her at the bottom. Thank Allah, her feet just barely touched the bottom. Buliwyf climbed down fast, and she saw Ahmed just reach the second rope.

Then everyone grew still as Helfdane motioned them silent. Wendol passed just overhead with torches. No one breathed as they came into view, until Ahmed suddenly slipped off the rock and down the rope. He caught himself, and she instinctively moved to help him. Buliwyf caught her around the middle and pressed his hand over her mouth. A few moments, and the Wendol were gone. Ahmed reached the bottom, and she took his rope-burned hands in hers. No broken skin, but the gloves were ripped at the palms.

Herger and Helfdane quickly joined them, and they slowly made their way across the river. Her feet no longer touched the bottom, but Helfdane tucked an arm around her as the others drew their weapons. They reached the furthest prayer circle and climbed. She found footing and drew her own sword. The Wendol's eyes were closed, and the warriors approached noiselessly. Buliwyf gave the signal.

They worked quickly to dispatch the enemy, but one got off a cry before Weath cut his throat. The area was cleared for only a second when shouts came overhead, and Wendol descended upon them. Everyone rushed to cut them off, but Herger turned on Buliwyf.

"_Gooo! Kill her! Do it!_"

Mariyah desperately wanted to follow, to keep the Bullhead in her sight, but the others needed her. She picked them off from the top with her bow until one pushed through. His swing caught her off guard, and the club snapped her bow in half. One arrow left, and she used it to stab him in the eye then kick him into the river. Another crashed at her feet, fumbling, and she grabbed his matted hair and flung his skull into the cave wall. He collapsed, and she pushed him angrily into the waters below as well. She didn't want to be here anymore!

She drew her sword and plunged in with the others. It seemed hard to believe only yesterday she never killed anyone when now her body did all it could to claim as many lives as quickly as possible. Her gladius made it easy to combat the Wendol in such closed quarters, but these were not warriors. Priests, more likely, and disposing of them took far less effort than the ones back at the village.

The room was cleared, but more could be seen closing in overhead.

"Damnit!" Herger bit through his teeth.

Mariyah grabbed an ear of a Wendol that clubbed Herger's armor, dragged him back, then tucked her arm below his jaw and snapped his neck. The vibration chilled her bones, but she dumped him in the river along with the others.

Buliwyf returned, weak it seemed but still holding his sword. The deed was half done, but getting out the way they came would be impossible. They'd never make it.

"Hey!" Weath pointed his torch. "There's a passage leading down!"

They quickly took it. She joined alongside Buliwyf and kept hold of his arm. He moved quickly, but she felt his slight lean against her. He had been hurt by the Mother. Down, down, further down the passage went, led by a tiny stream crossing the uneven floor. Would it never end?

Then they came to an abrupt stop as the trail disappeared into a small pool. A dead-end.

"The stream disappears under the rocks," Edgtho told Herger as he and Ahmed brought up the rear. Helfdane?

Mariyah released Buliwyf and came up beside Ahmed. "Where is Helfdane?" Ahmed said nothing, but his sad eyes told all. Gone. Her chest tightened at never seeing his friendly wink again; he was so gentle to her.

"Buliwyf!"

She spun around, and Buliwyf had collapsed to one knee. He claimed he was all right but looked pale. She dropped down beside him, pushed his hair back, and pressed her palm against his face. Warm, too warm. His eyes met hers, and she knew that he discovered the truth the same as she. Poison.

"We fight by twos, give the other pair a chance to rest." Herger unsheathed his sword and leaned against the entryway. "Here they come." Edgtho pulled his weapon, as well, but she kept her focus on Buliwyf. How long did he have?

"Come on, make it worse," Weath chuckled, "now it's gonna rain." Rolling thunder sounded against the rock, and she dreaded the thought of more water pouring in.

"Wait wait wait wait wait!" Ahmed's words interrupted the men's laughing. "Thunder!"

"Waves make thunder," said Edgtho. "The Thunder Cliffs!"

"Surf. Surf. There is a surf!" Ahmed pointed his torch toward the pool into the rock wall. "Out there." Not again.

"Can we swim it, or do we drown trying?"

Everyone exchanged looks, but Buliwyf lifted his head. "Try it."

No arguments were made, and they dropped their weapons. Edgtho and Weath jumped in first then helped Buliwyf, counted to three, and dove down. She slipped behind them, and Ahmed and Herger leapt in.

"The way we'll know is," Herger grinned, "if they don't follow us, it's too far to swim!" He laughed, and they moved toward the hole.

She resisted. Ahmed looked back at her and pulled. "Come on, we have to go now!"

No. "I can't." She shook her head and wrenched against their grip. "I can't go." Allah.

"I'm not leaving here without you, damnit! Now come on!"

"I can't!" Her head spun in a hundred directions, and tremors filled her. The walls, the darkness, the death, the water—no, not over her head! "I can't, I'll drown!" She couldn't breathe! "You have to go without me!"

The grip on her left arm tightened, and another hand cupped around the base of her skull, directing her gaze squarely into Herger's. "Hey!" His breath touched her mouth, and the feel of his bare skin against hers numbed the nerves. Her entire body focused on him, his bright eyes seeking to infect her with their spirit.

His words came gently. "We will guide you."

She wanted to believe him, know that he would keep her safe. No sooner she felt doubt, it disappeared. She did believe. She trusted him because she loved him. Acceptance made it easier to rely on, and relief overtook fear. They would do this together.

She turned to Ahmed, and his warm brown stare encouraged her. "Okay." They would make it.

One, two—deep breath—three!

Herger led the way, and Ahmed pushed her between them. The water was clear enough to see, and they worked their way through a narrow, uneven tunnel. She kept her eyes on Herger. Her lungs started to hurt, and a rush of panic made her head swell, but her eyes never left him. Just follow him, don't lose sight. They found a hole in the roof of the tunnel and pushed up, paddling and thrashing toward the light overhead. Oh God, it was so close!

Her face broke the surface, and she gasped a lung-full of air. The sun beamed down upon them, and never had she yearned for it as she did then. They came out just off the cliffs, a ways to shore, but everyone made it. They made it!

An arm came around her waist, and she put hers around the back of Herger's neck. His shoulder provided the perfect place to hide her face as adrenaline flushed from her system. Her body felt weak again, but the afternoon air filled the shakes with joy. They survived.

Herger directed her arms around him and maneuvered her to his back. She floated and kicked as he swam them to shore. His feet found ground, and he helped her stand. Her knees wobbled, but he pulled her against his side and marched up the tide. If she never saw a cave again, it would be too soon.

Her foot snagged on one of the many buried rocks, and she collapsed into the wet dirt. His hand was there behind her head, but the other left her waist to catch their fall. The next second, he dropped against her. A brief wave of heat rushed over her then dissolved into hypersensitivity of his body pressed over hers. He fit perfectly into her curves, torsos pushing for air, hips melded over dripping fabric, legs intertwined. Her arms were still around his neck as he lifted.

He only raised just enough to catch her eyes. His breath flushed her cheeks, and the cascade of golden curls around her face made her hold tighten around him. They were so close, too close for anyone to doubt their insatiable draw to one another. Her lips remembered his mouth exceedingly well. Her gaze swept the length of his face from scar to chin then returned to his eyes.

She loved him. The earlier truth came back, and she knew it now as much as she believed it then. She loved him. Whether he loved or desired her would not change that, though part of her wanted to know.

I love you!

Herger grinned, wild and mischievous, and she felt him withdrawing. "Perhaps it's time you learned how to swim, hm?"

Don't leave. She didn't smile back but kept his stare. Her fingers grazed his ear, and his humor gradually faded back to their tender silence. Stay with me. His eyes remained steady. Stay.

"We should get back to the village." Edgtho's voice shattered their moment, and Herger turned his head. She lost him.

Her attention swept briefly to Edgtho, who partnered with Weath to help Buliwyf up, then saw Ahmed. He lowered his gaze instantly, but she knew shock and confusion no matter how brief. She had seen it her entire life.

Herger righted himself then hoisted her up as well. He followed after the others without a glance at her, and she focused on the tide. She suddenly missed her veil, hidden from the world and everyone in it. So long she wanted to be free, accepted for who she was, and experience a new life. She still yearned for it. But this pain in her chest, tsk, it all came so fast.

She needed her father.

"Mariyah." His voice stopped her breath, but she did not acknowledge him. Go away. She wanted to be alone.

Ahmed took her hand and squeezed. Don't be nice, just leave! He lifted it and kissed the palm. She finally turned to him. His tender dark eyes drove away so much pain in her life, fought back defeat, and now they suffocated doubt from her mind. She knew then that her father had lied. Ahmed hadn't needed her at all; she was the one who relied on him. All her life they acted as a team, but somewhere along the way she depended on him much more than he leaned on her.

Now was no different. She stepped into him, buried her face in his chest, and clung to the back of his tunic. No tears; she didn't feel like crying. He held her tight and spoke comforting words in the language they knew. They couldn't stay forever, but for those few moments alone, she felt at home again.

* * *

Mariyah rode back behind the others in silence. They already had Buliwyf inside and were served a meal by the time she entered. She was not hungry and didn't acknowledge them while cutting through for the back rooms. No one stopped her.

"Mary!" Tafl leapt into her arms, and she set him in her lap. "Where were you? I found something for you."

She smiled at the full sentences. "I was exploring, too. What did you find?"

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a bright yellow flower. Its numerous petals layered gorgeously over each other, and the round fluffiness of the bloom reminded her of milk. She had never seen such a flower, and its beauty took her breath away. "We call them ballblom. They only grow a few months a year, but my mother always found them. I thought you might like them, too."

Mariyah smiled. She needed this. "I love it."

Tafl reached up and tucked it over her ear. "Mother said girls like flowers in their hair."

She had never worn one but enjoyed his delight. "Perhaps we shall make a veil of ballblom."

He grinned at the idea. "We could make one each year!"

She fought a frown and patted his back. "For now, I have to take care of a few things. Okay?"

"But you'll be back, right?" His smiled already convinced him, but she didn't have the heart to lie.

"Don't wander off, okay?"

He nodded and hopped down but looked back once he reached the door. "My name is Konur."

She liked it. "Be good." He happily sprinted out amongst his newfound friends, and she sighed. "Be safe."

The men remained with Buliwyf for some time, including Ahmed, but all the Queen could do was wipe his sweating face. Mariyah watched overhead, and no one noticed her. The solitude gave her time to think.

Baghdad seemed a lifetime ago. What would Shireen be up to after all this time? Where was her father now? Had Dizhwar found the wife the general always spoke of? When could al-Muqtadir forgive Ahmed and let them come home?

Home. The word struck a nerve. Baghdad was her birthplace and heritage, her whole life entwined in its buildings and people. But was it home? She longed for her father and Shireen's infectious laughter. She wanted hot sun and bright colors. She missed the familiarity. Even still, the answer came clear.

Such a life was not meant for her. She needed more, required change, sought differences. Melchisidek knew that, despite all his talk of family keeping together. He let her go on purpose. Would he expect her to return? She thought so all this time, but doubt plagued her thoughts. Where was home?

Ahmed departed last, and the Queen helped King Hrothgar to his chambers. For a moment, Buliwyf was entirely alone. Mariyah quietly descended. In the few hours of poison, he grew pale and clammy, already appearing a corpse. His eyes were closed; he must be exhausted.

But he managed to open them when she leaned against the table in front of him. "I admit, you're the last person I expected to see wearing a long face."

"More than Wigliff?"

He chuckled weakly. "He would be happy to see me go." Go. Softer than death, yet sadder. Death was inevitable; going felt reluctant.

She was reluctant to let him go. "Whatever becomes of us, we will push to the last." His eyelids drifted. No, not yet!

She suddenly leaned forward and gripped his hand. He lifted his gaze, so weak. Images of her dying mother surfaced, but she was not afraid this time. She squeezed hard. "I will give my life. For _you_." For family. She wanted to protect them all: Rethel, Skeld, Helfdane, Roneth, every last one. She wished she could save them, cure Buliwyf, but so much had been lost. More than anything, home or history, she longed to have them back.

Their faces would live only in memory now, but one option remained at her disposal. She would fight. No more hiding. If she could not save them, she would honor them—or die trying.

His grip tightened around hers, and he nodded. The bravest of Bullheads.

She smirked. "As long as you don't tell me how to do it." He chuckled again, a little stronger this time, and she smiled, too.

Horns. Faint in the confines of the great hall, but her ears lifted in response. She regarded Buliwyf, and he nodded then released her. Time to go.

Mariyah helped Olga and Weilew herd the children below and ignored Konur's protests. They did this for him. Her bow lay in shambles at the Wendol cave, but Rethel's weapon still hung from the horse. A rope dart needed fixing; every one might be essential. Her gladius longed for more enemy blood. She tied up her hair in a painful bun and knotted the ripped veil around it.

The ballblom. She took it from her ear and twirled it between her fingers. It would not survive a battle, but she loathed to part with it. If this proved her end, she wanted to be with what mattered.

Someone came round the horses, and his blue gaze caught her. She focused instead on the flower and his movements to relieve his horse's burden. Some things a person could not take with them. The ballblom would be protected inside the saddle bag.

"Be safe tonight." His voice sounded friendly but superficial. He tried too hard.

She put the flower away and nodded. Words of endless questions and confessions clogged in her throat, so none found her voice, and her eyes refused to recognize him.

He took the hint, shouldered his armor, and left. More horns, closer, and the patter of busy feet through mud filled the air. As much as she hated the ocean and seas and everything in between, the sound of a soft rain eased her soul.

In moments, they might all die. The thought stirred nothing but a small sigh.

Mariyah stepped out into the falling sky and breathed deep. Mist in the distance. Riders on the hills. More horns. Ahmed stood alone just ahead.

He dropped the bundle in his arms—chain mail, helmet, gloves, sword—and removed his boots. Then he fell to both knees and bowed forehead to mud. They had not meditated in months, too distracted by foreign affairs to remember their own, but the familiar reverence struck her. A final prayer.

"Merciful Father. I have squandered my days with plans of many things. _This_ was not among them. But at this moment, I beg only to live the next few minutes well."

As he prayed, Mariyah knew he accepted what lay ahead. Faith, fate, were they really so different? Her mother thought so, as least that was what Mariyah always believed. Suddenly it seemed insignificant. How one lived in the time given mattered, not disparity, not religion, not protocol. Rules be damned!

She saw a glint of gold through the rain and hurried after it. "Herger!" He turned, surprised. The lines on his face appeared harsher in the rain. "Why did you do it?" His brow creased, and she bolstered her courage. "Why did you kiss me? Because you think I'm beautiful, or because you know we will never be together? Or, am I blinded by your intentions because I'm naïve?"

He smiled and stepped closer. "None of those reasons, though I promise you, Mariyah." Mariyah. "You are more beautiful to me than anything I have ever seen."

Arm's reach. Her elbow would not even be straight when she touched him if only she reached out. "Then why?"

He paused as she memorized his wonderful face. Then he took another step, nearly meeting now, and pressed his hand against her cheek. The gentle thumb strokes burned her senses, but she kept his gaze. No answer ever meant so much.

"Because…" Say it, please! "The same reason I'm resisting it now." What did that mean? "Fight well." He dropped his hand and left. No.

She bit her lip at the pain but spun around and mounted a wagon with bow and arrow ready. "Father." Praise to Allah, but Melchisidek was her only solace. "What end may come, what choices lay ahead, be at peace. For in this chaos, I am free at last."

The approaching cavalry stampede shook the earth, but everyone stood fast. Their fate was sealed, and all that remained was to rise up and meet it.

And rise he did. Buliwyf stumbled from the great hall down to the front lines. No one spoke. She flinched against running to him, and Weath did, too. His pain showed, but still he dragged his sword and dropped the blanket from his shoulders.

A lone Wendol on the nearest hill pointed his club at Buliwyf then swung it overhead. The leader had been drawn out and readied his warriors to follow. On the horn wailed.

"'Lo there do I see my father," Buliwyf's voice rose over them. "'Lo there do I see—"

"My mother and my sisters and my brothers." Herger now. "'Lo there do I see the line—"

"Of my people back to the beginning!" Edgtho, and she stood high on her perch as the enemy descended.

"'Lo, they do call to me." Weath climbed down to join his comrades.

"They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla." Ahmed's voice accompanied the sound of feather against string. "Where the brave," she pulled back, "may live—"

A breath. "Forever." The arrow pierced Wendol chest, and another followed before he hit the ground. She emptied her quiver faster than ever before; still they came. The people behind her threw all manner of projectile manageable, and she tackled a Wendol climbing up for her. He landed hard, but she somersaulted up and snagged a dart around a throat. A sharp pull yanked him off his feet, and the gladius ruptured a lung.

A weapon in each hand kept her quick and impenetrable. They had not bothered with spears this time, which let her focus all efforts on those ahead. A horseman plunged through his fallen kin and swung his club, but she spun away in the mud, whipped her dart, and hauled him off the steed. The gladius raised high for the final blow, but an unnatural roar turned her head.

The horn blared, and Wendol warriors fled the village quicker than they came. The leader lay dead at Buliwyf's feet.

She glanced back at the enemy beneath her sword. What she saw made her spare him, and he sprung up and hurried after the others. Run. Live long in your newfound fear. The Wendol disappeared amongst the mist. All was quiet but for the gentle tap of raindrops.

A dog whimper broke the stillness, and all eyes moved. Buliwyf was dead.

Surely we belong to Allah and to Him shall we return.


	6. Chapter 5

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Chapter Five**

"Women are the twin halves of men."

Prophet Mohammad

The villagers' first act was burying their fallen hero. Mariyah accepted the task of preparation, and no one questioned her customs. She bathed his cold body from head to toe then carefully wrapped him in clean linens stitched especially for him. Her people were cleansed by adult members of the same sex, usually someone in the family, and the shroud must be humble, but specifics held no value here, and the red cloth fit him perfectly.

They carried him to the sea and performed the burning ceremony. In place of a queen, she and Konur collected flowers and sent them along. As before, she cried, but there was no concealing them this time. No more hiding; let them see.

With the funeral behind them, it was time to rebuild. They started on destroyed homes and crops then worked their way up. Konur enjoyed helping, and Mariyah was surprised by her own satisfaction in physical labor. Not as surprised as Ahmed and Herger, but they enjoyed teasing her too much to care what they thought. She learned how to build and farm, although shadowing the carpenter rewarded most. He was old but skilled and relished teaching as much as she delighted learning.

The Men, as she had come to call her remaining warriors, forced her to swim, too. She struggled initially, but Edgtho's patience never failed, and Weath had her following the shoreline after only a few lessons. Herger managed to get her on the open sea; however, he did so by pushing her off the boat. Weath gave him a nudge, as well, and she fought the traitor in the water. Swimming didn't sooth her—her nerves still heightened at the prospect—but floating was nice.

Olga and Mariyah became friends. Mariyah saw her and Ahmed together at times, but they acted as comrades more than lovers, much the way the Men treated her. Olga explained the land and lifestyle, leading her on long walks with Konur occasionally in tow. Mariyah carried the gladius the first few weeks, but no sign of Wendol surfaced. One day, she simply forgot to strap the weapon on and didn't bother afterward.

She still succumbed to Herger's affect on her. Nothing changed between them at first, but moments became more frequent. They usually worked nearby, practiced together, sat side-by-side, shared games. Even Konur took a liking to him, and Herger taught him to swordfight and sail. When the great hall was completed, everyone cheered, and Mariyah grinned at the spectacle. Herger's hand grazed hers, intentionally, and she corded their fingers. They never spoke, but she knew he smiled, too.

The village was back on its feet and nearly complete. Plans were made for their departure, and she helped Ahmed oversee the crafting of a new boat. Weath and Edgtho would go with them, and some townspeople opted to accompany the voyage. Herger chose to stay longer and promised to join up later. It shouldn't be much now, and they would sail home.

* * *

Mariyah washed her face in the basin then wiped with a clean cloth and sat on the bed to put on her shoes. Hygiene was something that the villagers struggled to master, but without it, she would not have stayed as long as they had. She draped her hair over her shoulder, tied it together, and stepped out. The final day was here.

A hand grabbed hers, and she scoffed as Herger covertly pulled her away. "Where are we going?"

His horse was already saddled and supplied, and he mounted quickly then offered his hand. Why was he sneaking around? She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him suspiciously. The amusement wouldn't recede, but he got the idea and grinned.

"Afraid?" Damn it.

She rolled her eyes, smile broadening with his, and took his hand up. He spurred the steed ahead, and they rode off toward the trees. Being close to him made the long ride pleasant until they breached the forest atop the Thunder Cliffs. He dismounted and offered her a help down then untied a parcel from the saddle.

"What are we doing here?"

"_We_," he opened the bundle into a blanket and spread it over the ground, "are taking time away." He came back for more.

"Away from what?"

"Everything." He opened the second sack full of bread, fruit, and a jug of mead. "Work." He laid out on the spot, tucked his arms behind his head, and sighed long and loud with eyes closed. "Expectation."

They had worked hard the past months; time away with him might be nice. She cleared her throat and sat. He didn't react, and she mimicked his sigh then laid back, too, hands on her stomach. His chuckle infected her before peaceful quiet resumed.

Waves crashed against immobile rock while early morning sun warmed her. The light breeze spread grass and sea smells around them, and the clear sky swallowed the world whole. So much like home.

He smirked and rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow. "Is your home very different from this?"

"Completely. We have very little grass, mostly in gardens and courtyards; nothing like hills as far as the mind can imagine." She would miss the heavy downpours more. "It rains only just. There's sand everywhere, even in our weather. I have seen a noteworthy shower only once but witnessed several sandstorms."

"Sandstorms?"

"Yes." She flew upright, rounded on him animatedly, and crossed her legs. "Imagine an impenetrable cloud as high as the sky and reaching beyond sight in both directions, coming toward you with the roar of a thousand wild beasts chasing you down and consuming all." Her mind remembered perfectly. "I was six when caught in my first sandstorm. It fills up everything inside you, rubbing into your skin and hair, drying your throat till you can't breathe, burning yours eyes!"

He laughed at her uncontainable enthusiasm. "It sounds as though you enjoy the experience!" She never understood why others didn't.

"They're exciting! Everyone gets worked up, and who knows what will happen when it's all over! My father hates them, of course, as does Ahmed, but I never miss the opportunity to know them first hand." She could still feel the grit between her toes.

"You will be happy to return, then." His gentle voice calmed her, and his sweet eyes gleamed sincerity.

"Yes, but I'll miss this, too." She smiled and looked out over the endless sea. "I wish I could see more." It was extraordinary to miss Baghdad so intensely yet crave to linger elsewhere a while longer. She knew what waited at home, but what lay out there? Her smile turned on him, her greatest discovery yet. "I will miss the freedom."

His lips tucked, then he sat up, too. "A husband awaits your return?"

Her eyes flicked away a second, but she forced them back. She didn't want to miss a single moment of him. "Years ago, perhaps, but that time has long passed. Women in my country don't condone violence, least of all engage in it, and travel is limited. To do so with heathen men is shameful. No one will ever want to marry me."

"Simply because you stand out from the rest?"

"Standing out is monstrously indecent." She didn't agree and flicked her eyebrows to show it. "What of you? No wife or family waiting somewhere?"

He chuckled at the idea. "I'm not the marrying type, and I haven't seen my family since I was a boy. My home is where I choose and my family who I share it with. That's enough for me."

"'The family which you came from is not so important as the family you are going to establish.' My father convinced me of those words when a great man retracted his proposal. Dizhwar didn't mind my interests, but his father knew the difficulties it would cause for his son amongst our leaders. We weren't in love, but I felt so guilty that my father could not marry off his only child. 'The family which you came from is not as important as the family you are going to establish,' he said."

"Yet he let you go unwed."

"I realized later what he truly meant. He resented Dizhwar, not me." She grinned at her father's love then shrugged. "Now I'm too old to old to appeal to a man."

"Mm." He shook his head and raised his hand. It appeared involuntary, and his rough fingers stroked her cheek. They stopped at her chin, locking their gaze. "You're exquisite."

She felt the blush everywhere, but a smile consumed her no matter how she tried to suppress it. _He_ was vastly finer than her, but his words still filled her with sublime joy.

He dropped his hand and glanced away with a throat clear. "I'm sure your father will be happy to have you home." He was retreating again, but she was used to it. They had so little time left, every instant held dear.

She took the bundled bread and broke off a piece. "Yes, and my dear friend Shireen has probably gotten into all sorts of trouble. She can be the most devious of sorts."

His impish grin returned. "My kind of woman?"

"Oh yes, mischief and fun all the way."

A small breakfast turned into early afternoon before they headed back. He had many questions about Baghdad, all of which she thoroughly enjoyed answering in great detail. Conversation reminded her of simpler afternoons in her father's kitchen and long nights at Shireen's. The idea of remaining silent for months disturbed her now. How had she done it? Was she really so irate with Melchisidek and Ahmed? It seemed trivial by comparison to the adventure, but such times were passed. She preferred the present over past and future.

They arrived at the stable, and Herger dismounted first then turned with both arms up. She took his shoulders and hopped down, sliding into his ready hold. They had not been so close since the Wendol cave, but the feel of their chests pressed together delighted her. She watched him, the way those shimmering blues ducked openly to her lips then found her brown gaze. He was so beautiful, even up close where all his flaws showed. At moments like these, she imagined she saw him as clearly as he always saw her. His nose lightly brushed hers, and a desperate gratitude filled her.

"Promise me." She cupped his face, soft despite the beard, and spoke strong. "After we've gone, promise me you won't forget."

He paused, but it wasn't hesitation. His eyes and voice never flinched. "I promise. Not for a thousand lifetimes."

Thank you. Thank you for saying it, even if it was only compassion. The words were enough. She smiled and pulled away. Someone would be looking for them by now, and she wanted to help supply the ship for their long voyage. Tomorrow, they would begin their journey home.

"Mary?" She glanced back. Oh how she would miss those eyes. "You won't forget either. Right?"

How could she forget the beginning of a whole new life? "Not even unto the brink of forever." His smile caught her, and she ducked out. Thank Allah for these moments, no matter how brief.

* * *

The celebration that night spread throughout the village faster than any joy Mariyah ever saw. It was not the usual festival with colorful decorations and trademark costumes but limitless dancing and singing, eating and drinking, laughing and talking, and eye-catching demonstrations sober men wouldn't attempt. The simple ritual brought everyone out to partake in its merriment, even King Hrothgar who managed a simple step with Queen Weilew. Mariyah sat on the sidelines and clapped in pace with the people's vivacious jive.

Konur created his own grove that his friends imitated in their corner of the campfire while Edgtho roamed like danger still lurked about. Weath was in the midst of it all, locking arms with women and skipping the tune. She hadn't seen Herger since the stables but beamed as Ahmed sat beside her.

"It's amazing, isn't it? They're all so happy."

"Hope is powerful medicine," Ahmed nodded. "I think we were meant for this all along. I'm glad we survived the end."

She agreed. Whatever misunderstandings or transgressions started this journey, she fully believed this moment showed the greater picture. Fate, some say, but destiny sounded better. It suggested happiness still ahead.

"You've gone through a great deal of change since we left Baghdad. Seen things most could not imagine." Ah, she wondered when this conversation would arise. "What will you do once we return?"

She went to great lengths to avoid thinking about it. Many familiarities made her long for the sun and sand, but the thought of leaving pained her emotionally and physically. How could someone feel so deeply for two different worlds?

"It's hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember." Her eyes swung to him—did he know?—but his face showed tenderness. "Whichever choices are made, whatever is said, wherever we end up, Mariyah, I want you to know how proud I am. And how blessed I feel to call you family."

Ahmed never flattered her. He didn't believe in bolstering egos or phony words. This was different, and the sweet glow of his gaze touched her heart. She clutched his hand, and he rested his over them. She was glad he could see every emotion on her face.

"Mary!" They turned their attention, and Weath waved her over. "Come on!"

"No! I don't know this dance!" That didn't stop him. He hurried over, pulled her up, and swung her into the fray.

The rest of the night she skipped to song, alternating partners and regularly falling over her feet. The hilarity lasted into early morning, but sunrise put everyone back to work, and she returned to her room to prepare.

* * *

Mariyah laid out the traditional clothes then packed her weapons. Practice would feel so small after real combat, but maybe it was time for something new. She gave up training once before for over a year, fidgety in life, but on her thirtieth birthday, Melchisidek convinced her to continue. He said the idleness made her irritable. It might be different this time without the agitation.

She picked up her folded blue hijab that she hadn't gotten around to fixing, but there was a yellow in her things. Even so, she opened it to examine the tear.

Something fell out. It clinked against the floor, and she kneeled to retrieve it. A ring, forged of some metal and baring symbols crafted across the wide band that had crossed her eyes before but didn't quite recognize. It was clearly a woman's accessory, but how did it end up in her possession? Perfect fit on her third finger, and it was back to packing.

Her few belongings tied together, she headed to the ship with her horse. Edgtho already helped another steed aboard, and Weath hauled a load of supplies over his shoulder. Still no Herger. Would he see them off? An unexpected bit of sadness disabled her a moment, then she shook it off and dismounted.

"Weath!"

He passed his burden up to a crewman and grinned. "Look at you, all raring to leave this behind. Ready for the high seas?"

She forced a smile at the prospect. "I wondered if you recognized these symbols?" She held the ring in her palm, and he nodded over it.

"Sure, they're runes."

"Runes?"

"Ya know, written word, like the Arab uses."

An alphabet. "Can you read any of them?"

"Maybe a few, but you'd be better off asking Herger."

Her fingers instantly closed over it, and she lowered her voice. "Herger?"

"Well it's his, isn't it? Belonged to his mother, said it'd lead him to new beginnings or some such. Anyway, he's held onto it. Not sure he really believes in all that, but I expect he'd be glad to have it back. Want me to carry your things up?"

"No. But thank you, Weath, for everything." She offered her hand. "It's been a true pleasure."

He accepted with his usual smirk. "I can't deny a woman in the pack has been a nice change of pace."

She smiled, nodded at Edgtho, then mounted her horse and headed back. All the deliberation led to naught in the face of her current resolve. There was still time to change, but she knew the decision was right.

* * *

Ahmed still packed in his room and knew her step when she entered. "I'm nearly finished now." He had started writing in the past week, and the pages sat in a neat pile, tied neatly together.

"You will tell of all that has transpired here?"

"I will tell all I understand." He took the keffiyeh and smirked playfully at her. "And a great deal of what I don't." Not everything needed explanation.

She gave a brief smile then extended her hand. "Will you give this to my father?"

He blinked down at the folded blue fabric and uncertainly took it then eyed her. "What are you saying?"

I love these people. I love this freedom. I love him. "I found happiness, somewhere in all this pandemonium."

His eyes told her he knew the feeling, but reluctance partnered it. He didn't want to let her go, and she suppressed tears. She loved him, too, as the dearest brother. Nonetheless, he nodded. "I will give him your affection."

Dear, dear Ahmed. She grabbed his shoulders and yanked him against her. He grunted into her hair but chuckled as she hugged him tight. They had been a team a long time and stayed true to one another despite any quarrels. She admired no one more, not even Melchisidek. If only fate would let her keep her greatest friend forever.

"I will miss you, Mariyah. Always."

The words wouldn't come, but he held her tight. They knew each other well. What was left unsaid said it all.

* * *

She watched the ship set sail across the harbor. It was small from her window of the great hall, but the sun blazed bright while the breeze carried them away. She never said goodbyes. They always made her doubt every decision.

Ahmed would accompany Weath and Edgtho across seas of monsters and forests of demons to destinations unknown, but praise be to Allah, the merciful and compassionate. May his blessings be upon pagan men who loved other gods, who shared their food and shed their blood, that his servant, Ahmed ibn Fahdlān, might become a man and a useful servant of God.

A crash startled her from the window, and she faced the doorway. Herger stood dazed, an armful of tools fallen around him, and her heart raced at the beautiful eyes on her once more. Nothing would ever affect her like them.

After a long silence, she found courage. "'Family is the shelter in a heartless world.' That's what Ahmed said." They had been kids then, but she trusted him. Part of her always would.

"You may never get another chance, Mariyah." Such a hero beneath all the humor, but his voice cracked. He wanted her to stay just as badly as she yearned to linger.

"My new beginning is here," she smiled. "With you."

He inhaled deeply, overwhelmed only a moment, then crossed the room in strong strides, scooped his arms across her waist, and pulled her against him. This time, she met his kiss head-on with both arms around his neck. The experience felt entirely different from the first, save the overwhelming pleasure consuming her senses. His lips worked urgently against hers, and she didn't hesitate to part her mouth for him. Their hold sought closer connection, bodies pressed tight, her fingers in his hair while his massaged along her back, their breath shallow with mouths passionately lovemaking.

They broke a moment, long enough to take a few breaths, and their eyes met. No more waiting, never again would she hold back.

"I love you."

He never even blinked. A huge smile filled his bright-eyed face that quickly consumed her, too. "I've searched my entire life for you, Mariyah."

Kiss after kiss, every touch more exquisite than the last. She could not imagine ever getting enough of him, and he held firm to her. In that moment, and all that would follow, she knew she had chosen well.

Chosen a life of real happiness.


	7. Epilogue

_**The Woman**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

_Based on the 1999 film "The 13__th__ Warrior"_

**Epilogue**

"Generous and brave men live the best."

Hávamál

_Norge, A.D. 930_

The cock sounded in the early dawn, and little feet raced across the porch followed by giggling and young shouts. His children, Idonea and Vidkun, were only five and six and still exerted unhealthy amounts of energy too early in the morning. It seemed they broke Konur of the habit just in time for Vidkun to walk. Not to be bested, Idonea learned to chase even earlier and prized keeping up with her older brothers. Oh but it was ahead of his readiness.

Herger lay flat on his back and pressed his hands over his eyes. Curse morning. There was nothing good about it except its passing.

"Father." Konur stepped in, and Herger looked down the length of the bed at him. Their room was a rectangle with the door at center and the bed to the right. Mariyah designed the entire home, which attracted much envy from their neighbors, and he always praised the privacy of their bed from awful daylight.

Konur stood just through the threshold, much taller than the boy they met eight years ago, and did not bother with a smile for his slumbering parent. "Should I prepare the wagon?"

"Yes, yes. We'll be up shortly." The boy left quickly, and Herger shook his head. Konur loved the trips into town, just like his mother.

Herger turned his head and smiled at the sleeping face beside him. She never made a sound, not even gentle breathing; he worried their first few times together but grew accustomed. By the sons of Odin he adored the curve of her mouth and smallness of her hands. He had never seen hair more gorgeous, either, or touched smoother skin. She made his head turn that day in the tent and had not stopped ever since. She was imperfectly flawless, and he couldn't get enough.

He leaned over and kissed her. Several followed until she woke and hooked his neck with her arm, holding him down for a longer embrace. He smiled into her large dark eyes—those were nearly his favorite, second only to her charming accent—and whispered, "Good morning."

Mariyah smiled, too. "Good morning, Husband."

He was hers, in all ways a man could be for the great woman in his life. They kissed again, and her hands found his hair. She tugged, and his body rolled against hers. This made mornings worth every grievance.

"Mamma!" Idonea cried from outside. "Vidkun won't let me in the wagon!"

Mariyah pulled her mouth away in a luscious gasp, but he wasted no time moving to her ears and throat. "Vidkun!" she panted. "Be nice to your sister!" Her fingers yanked his mouth back to hers, and the movement drew him completely over her. Her body beneath his did indescribable things to him. From that day outside the Wendol caves when he could barely think of anything but making superb love to her, through the eight years they continued passionate nights, mornings, and mid-afternoons, he never tired of fulfilling his delicious wife.

"Mamma!" Idonea shouted again, and Vidkun's teasing laughter made her louder.

Mariyah threw her head back as he pulled against her night dress. "Konur!" His touch found the apex of their morning. "Watch your brother and sister!"

Then he was on his back, and she straddled his hips while pulling the dress over her head and dropping it to the floor. No one found their love more exquisite than he found her, and he spent the rest of dawn proving it to her.

* * *

"Well done, Konur." Herger patted his shoulder and motioned him to the driving bench. "Let's not dally any longer, up you go." Konur knew his parents well enough to realize who the real dalliers were, but Herger appreciated that the conversation never arose. "Come on, my little demons!"

Vidkun and Idonea raced out of the house ahead of their mother, and Herger snagged his son before he could run to the front. Vidkun resembled his mother at first glance with thick, blackish hair and equally dark eyes, but his features were very much Herger's: long, straight nose, round cheekbones, thin mouth, and wide forehead. Most notably, his possessed Herger's fine complexion, and there was no denying where his impulsive confidence came from.

"Not yet, hellion. When you're older." He hoisted Vidkun over the side then grinned down at Idonea's arms stretched toward him. Her curly blonde head and large blue eyes always sparkled, and with Mariyah's soft features and slightly fuller skin, it was impossible to resist her. He swept her up and planted a sloppy kiss on her giggling face then deposited her in the back as well.

Mariyah came out in no particular hurry with a large basket under her arm. She seldom hurried anywhere these days except chasing their children or coercing him into submission.

Their house was a grand achievement. After the Wendol, they traveled for several months with nothing in mind except exploration and adventure intricately entwined with passion. Mariyah loved him despite all his reservations and inadequacies, he always knew that, but he also knew she wanted a family and decided to return her patient love with a home, a marriage, and children.

They started building the lodge, so she called it, almost immediately. The building was larger than most families ever saw—she claimed it was quite humble by comparison to her native soil, and he often wondered how she preferred the small lifestyle of his land—shaped like a square with the center cut out for a garden and small courtyard. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, a study, and a dining area was significantly greater than most they knew, even immaculate, but she had been firm about the type of home her children grew up in. Herger finished the last months alone when Mariyah grew too pregnant to assist, but she jumped on the barn project after Vidkun was born. Her endeavors for them were relentless, and he admired that about her. She was the best decision he had ever made, and his children brought endless joy. Though Idonea's birth produced complications, and Mariyah had not gotten pregnant since, they were happy with the gems they shared.

"You're bringing up the rear, my lady," he teased then chuckled when she pecked him then slapped his shoulder.

"Who's last in the wagon?" she retorted and slid the basket up before climbing aboard.

"Aye aye, Your Highness." He bowed dramatically then hoisted himself in the driver's seat and snapped the reigns. "Yah!"

* * *

It was over an hour to town, and Mariyah tested the children's Aramaic as she stitched a hole in Vidkun's shirt. Even at five, Idonea showed the greatest ability with language, and Herger suspected a reflection of his wife would come from his only daughter. Vidkun preferred math and politics, while Konur excelled in farming and medicine. His knowledge of land and its natural inhabitants impressed everyone, even his mother. Herger spent long hours tending the acreage, but Mariyah invested every opportunity to teach their children something new.

But she found time for training in the busy day. Age had not slowed her down at nearly forty like he began to feel it was him at just under fifty. Maybe he was only out of practice, and a spar with her might do him some good. The children often watched her, and Konur had only recently been permitted to participate. He was not a confrontational boy but understood better than most the value of such skills. He was tender like her, and Herger was glad for it. He lived a full life that brought him to Mariyah without regret, but it was not a future he envisioned for his anklebiters.

They reached town, and Konur jumped off to tend the horses. Herger disembarked as well and motioned to the steeds. "When you're done with them, help your mother."

"Yes, Father."

Herger swept Idonea off the back, nuzzled his beard into her giggling face, then kissed her and set her down. Vidkun hopped out on his own and extended a hand up to Mariyah, who took it with a twinkle in her eye.

"You two carry the flowers," she instructed and handed a medium-sized basket filled with bright flowers. It took both of them to carry it, but they hurried off energetically.

"I'll be back after while." He kissed her lips and headed off when she nodded.

Mariyah was a great dealer that always got them the best for their product, if not better. She didn't need his help for business, though he usually went along for sport. Today he had other matters to attend.

He crossed to the other side of town and entered the alehouse. Despite the early hour, many sat around and enjoyed a nice drink to jumpstart their day. Not everyone had a beautiful wife for morning exercise; he woke to a mead breakfast many days before she came along.

Two cloaked figures stood at the bar, and he grinned as they drew back their hoods. "What took you bastards so long?"

"My daughter's very popular these days!" Weath chuckled and bear-hugged Herger. "Have to beat them off with a tree."

"She must resemble her mother," Herger kidded then moved on to Edgtho. "And what about you?"

Edgtho returned the embrace then nodded. "I have it."

"Excellent. We have much to do, gentlemen, and very little time to accomplish it, so down your honey before Mariyah sees your vulgar faces."

"How is she?" Weath asked and picked up his drink. "Still your Sjöfn?"

"And Vör and Freya and Nanna and the great Frigg herself." Mariyah retained her faith in one god but enjoyed the stories of many overseers. They practiced their own beliefs and respected the other's, but religion was not a high priority in their household. The children asked questions, but discussion never came from it. Let them suppose what they wished.

A man beside Weath grunted, "Your wife is _something_, Herger. A woman like that, it's probably best she can bear no more offspring."

Weath grabbed the man by the throat, and Herger broke in. "Don't worry about him." Fjǫnir drank too much all hours of the day and got into several regular scrapes. He was pathetic, really, and Weath released him.

Fjǫnir scoffed. "Mixing only breeds bad blood."

Herger waited until Weath backed off to face the drunkard. "Fjǫnir, it's not the better man who speaks ill of another's family."

Fjǫnir sneered, but, before he could respond, Herger slammed the man's head against the bar and leaned close. Fjǫnir's loose disregard abruptly overturned to surprise. "Because if you ever speak of my wife again, I will peel your skin off one slab at a time." He stabbed a knife into the space between Fjǫnir's frightened fingers. "Starting here. Am I clear?"

"Y-Yes!"

"Good." He pulled out the blade then released Fjǫnir's head with a pat on the shoulder. "Have another. You look suddenly sober." Fjǫnir said nothing else as they left.

"Some things never change," Weath jabbed, and they all chuckled. Maybe he was not so old.

* * *

They returned just as Mariyah finished loading the spoils into the wagon. His whereabouts for the last hours intrigued her, but he only smiled and helped her up. He wanted badly to tell her, but the surprise would be worth it. She didn't quiz the children on the way home so they could tell him the news he missed. Vidkun was the most enthusiastic while Idonea noted every detail and Konur made the convincing voices. She let them spin the truth how they pleased.

Konur spotted the strangers first, and the youngsters scrambled forward. Mariyah and Herger exchanged smiles, and her joy satisfied him. She thought this was his secret.

Vidkun jumped the side of the wagon and raced to meet the familiar faces while Idonea waited for a stop before sliding off the back and joining her brother. Weath swiped them both up in hugs and kisses until Idonea reached out for Edgtho. Konur waited, but Herger nodded, and the boy sprinted to meet them, too.

Mariyah all but laughed at the spectacle and climbed out. She embraced Weath's strong hold and whispered something in his ear that made him chuckle. Edgtho showed a smile when she cupped his face and said a few soft words.

"All right, enough cuddling," Herger teased. "Konur, take care of the horses. Idonea, Vidkun, open the barn for your brother. You two make yourselves useful and help us carry all this."

"No orders for Mary?" Weath scoffed and yanked a basket from the wagon.

"He's not that bold," prodded Edgtho, and Mariyah passed Herger a wink.

He never told her what to do, not for particular reasons, but because it didn't work the way. She gave more than a few chores, and that was as it should be. They preferred their order of things.

Unfortunately, a day's demands did not disappear on the account of company. Herger and Konur were in the fields before an hour passed, and Mariyah started Idonea and Vidkun's lessons. Weath was dispelled from the house, too great a distraction, and helped the men while Edgtho gamed a meal. Mariyah released the excited children early to scramble after the others, and the day's work was nearly done.

"You make a decent farmer," Weath noted early evening as they leaned on scythes and the children played in the field. The crops were doing well, but they had a good year. Sometimes he wondered when the luck of his contented life would run out.

Herger chuckled at the complimentary jab. "She insisted." She had, but truth be told, there had not been much fight. He joined the occasional scuffle and hunted each season, but the warmth of his home brought plenty satisfaction.

"You don't miss it at all? You, the craziest and cleverest of us, don't yearn for the adventure of another battle, the next great challenge?"

"The only challenge I want is how to keep my family merry."

"Aye, that's a trial that never ends." They grinned then Weath lowered his voice. "You've made a foundation here, Herger, and I admire you for it, but this isn't your way. This isn't who you are, we both know it."

Herger deliberately kept his mouth shut. Yes, he grew restless on occasion, more so in recent times, but he had never considered leaving this so some semblance of a younger man might still thrive. His body felt older every day, and one day he would become the aged man only the lucky ones turned into. He lived the warrior longer than the farmer and missed the thrill and uncertainty.

But he loved his children, and, even more than that—yes, greater than his deep-seeded paternal bliss—his passionate devotion to Mariyah surmounted any other longing in his life. By Odin's sons he loved that woman. There was absolutely nothing he would deny her if she only asked. He couldn't fathom deserting her.

"Mary's a fine woman," Weath added, and Herger returned the sly, unreadable glance. "What if she decides to return to her homeland? Leave all this behind?"

"She wouldn't—"

"But what if she did? You haven't seen where she came from; I have. She has nothing to gain by staying here, no matter how good a farmer you become."

"You know her, Weath. Do you really think those things matter?"

"I think she's a clever girl too damn good for any of us and hopelessly in love with you for some damn reason." They both laughed at the truth then Herger slapped his shoulder.

"I appreciate your concern, you old blowhard, but I've run my course. Until the children are grown, at least, I'm happy with how things are."

Weath's intentions were good and his points held merit, but Herger's did, too. Despite the restiveness, he had never been happier and his family was safe as well as provided for. That was more than he ever expected over thirty years ago when he left his village.

"All right, my demons! Everyone to the house, wash up, and get ready for supper!"

"Do you obey as well as you demand?" Weath ducked under Herger's swing with the scythe.

Back at the house, aromas of cooked meat and fresh vegetables blended through warm bread flattered by perfect wine. Edgtho may have carved up the deer, but Herger knew the delicious smell of her hard work and entered the kitchen to say as much. Edgtho directed him across the house, and he found her sitting at a desk in their bedroom. She traded much for ink and parchment, yet he hardly caught a glimpse of her words even though now he knew the foreign symbols. So many pages cluttered the furniture.

"Mary." She glanced at him in the doorway, and he smiled at her delight. "The offspring are ready for a bath."

"Thank you, darling." She turned the parchment over, dropped the quill, and hurried up. "Their clothes?"

"They have them." Mariyah usually helped the children at the river while she and he washed after the young ones slept. It was a regular opportunity for private intimacy.

"We won't be long." She squeezed his arm, and he stole a kiss before she rushed down the hallway.

He watched from the front door then walked back to their room. It was not that he mistrusted her, but his curiosity grew. Was it a diary, or poetic nonsense? It would be wrong to read her personal thoughts, and she would not approve of snooping. Still, not everyone could be a saint.

So he pinched the paper between his fingers and flipped it back.

_I miss my father, as the sun longs for the moon without a chance of finding her, and in moments of weakness I wonder what my future would become had I not followed him from Baghdad, not obeyed his suggestion to accompany Ahmed, not crossed Herger's path. Be that as it may, life is not about the alternatives. What should be always will be._

_And as this tale comes to an end, I want you to know, my darlings, that your adventure is never over. It took 31 years for my life to begin, and your father is the greatest proof of a miraculous God I will ever need. Any and every god be glorified for the joy bestowed upon us through such beautiful children!_

_Herger is my destiny. More time would have been wonderful, but it was not yet ready. So do not rush, take all the time in the world, for it is yours and yours alone. One day, your adventure will begin, and once it does, it never truly ends._

_I love you with all my heart._

Her signature was only half completed, but he knew it so well his mind drew the lines for her. He found the first page and read further.

_When I was a child, my mother would tell me that life was but a series of events cleverly disguised by fate as choices. If ever I asked her what it meant, she would simply say, "In time."_

* * *

It had been a while since they had had such amusement as Weath and Edgtho shared their tales of travel and battle and extraordinary peoples. The children hung on every word while Mariyah played the ideal host; she listened, too, ears perked and head cocked, but stayed quiet. His friends traversed great distances in the years abroad, but Herger noted a particular exploit that stayed off the agenda.

Until he nodded at the end of the meal, and Edgtho left briefly while Weath coerced Mariyah into an immobile spot at the table.

"Now," Weath boasted theatrically, "in our travels, we came across an idea so brilliant, so mad, that it obviously came from that bastard." He jabbed a finger at Herger, who bowed his head at their laughter. "We decided it was time to give a proper wedding gift."

Mariyah laughed as Edgtho returned carrying a large, covered chest on his shoulder. "Not a body, I hope."

Weath stood beside Edgtho and motioned at the box. "Mary, for your pleasure and unfortunate union to that oaf, we present you with this." Edgtho grabbed the cloth and whipped it off.

Her initial response was confusion, replaced quickly by surprise then pure elation. The recognition was unquestionable, and she caressed the chest with a gentility reserved for her babies. This was a great love, too.

"What is it, Mamma?" Idonea leaned over Mariyah's shoulder for a closer look.

"This was mine," she smiled, tears in her eyes. "Something I thought lost." Vidkun tried to crack the lid, but she swatted his hand. "Not tonight, young man. Konur, be my strength and get them ready for bed, will you?"

"Of course, Mamma." Konur would do anything they asked; he was just like that. "Idonea." He snatched Vidkun under his arm, and Idonea traced his footsteps after kissing her mother goodnight.

Mariyah waited until they were gone to open the chest. Some of the weapons inside Herger recognized while others remained a mystery. They all appeared well-kept and sharp. Her fingers grazed a sword, and a sweet sigh passed her lips.

"How did you get this?"

"Herger wrote a message for us in your gibberish and sent it ahead," said Weath. She glanced at Herger, but he only shrugged. "We found this at the designated rendezvous."

"You went all that way for a bunch of weapons," she would have chastised if her voice had not come out so tender. "Why?"

Weath and Edgtho looked pointedly at Herger, but he didn't fidget under the inquiry. "I requested what was most valuable to you. This is what they chose." And chose well, by the emotion in her eyes.

"Thank you." She went back to their guests and smiled. "All of you. This is more wonderful than I could have imagined." Her tears were getting the best of her, and the men grinned.

"Enough sentiment!" Herger ordered and stood. "Let's get this cleaned up and enjoy a real drink!"

Mariyah touched his arm and shook her head. "I'll do it, go on outside." Usually he couldn't give his left arm to escape cleanup, but she obviously wanted a moment alone.

"You heard her, lads, out with you before she changes her mind!"

The men filed onto the front graze, sparked up a warm fire, and downed more than their share of mead. Herger had not been drunk since their last visit over a year ago, but, amongst old friends again, they laughed and fumbled and swigged and spoke of memories long and recently passed. The moon watched silent in the furthest reaches of the sky before Weath tossed a jug on the dying embers.

The guests quickly passed out in the now-empty dining area, and Herger tip-toed across the house to the children's rooms. Still safe and deep asleep. His bedroom, however, was empty.

"Mary?"

He stumbled back to the kitchen and found a cup of water, two apples, and toast, but no wife.

"Mary?"

He nearly swallowed the bread whole then took the others with him to the study. Nothing.

"Mariyah?"

Where had she gone? He finished the water and left the cup then exited the back of the house. His chewy apple sounded loud in the night fields, and both fruits were gone by the time he checked the barn and corral.

But as he neared the river, different echoes found him: paced breathing, quick steps, the whistle of blade against air. He pushed the last brush aside and found her near the bank. Her weapon of choice was a sword like he had only seen the likes of once. Ahmed's knife was similar with its thinner, more curved blade than their broad swords, but Mariyah's coiled further than any he knew.

The metal arched up fourteen, maybe fifteen degrees from the hilt that jutted down against the wrist. Such a design seemed problematic for killing efficiency, but her actions carried the power impressively, as if nothing could survive their partnership. He almost forgot how stunning her movements were. She preferred to practice alone, so he usually only saw her training Konur, but the fluidity and poise reminded him why she survived the Wendol. She still amazed.

The routine ended, and she sheathed the weapon horizontally across the back of her waist. She stared across the river then unstrapped the weapon and laid it down. Her shoes after that, and he knew what she would do next.

But he stepped out with applause and smiled when she turned. "You haven't lost your edge, I see."

"Some of us age more gracefully than others."

"Oh really?" She nodded but lifted her arms up, and he stepped into her hold. "We'll have to see what can be done about that." They kissed as they often did, but she pulled back.

"I'm grateful for what you did, all of you." He chuckled and enjoyed the way she regarded him with unabashed thankfulness. "I don't deserve all the happiness you give me, Herger. You're too magnificent for someone like me."

He shook his head and squeezed her waist. "I think that about you every day, just before I recall that I would never let you go even if someone more suited came along."

She grinned and kissed him again. Her nails flicked his sensitive earlobes before the fingers plunged into his hair. His own hands flew up and cupped her neck as she split the seam of her mouth and enticed him inside. His tongue stroked the underside of hers, and her purr awakened that insatiable desire to hear her pleasured scream.

When their hips touched, his true purpose smacked his senses, and he flew back from her with a gasp. "Wait! Wait, wait." She showed surprise, and who could blame her? He possessed little will to resist her.

He smiled at her confusion and reached into his shirt. "I have something for you first."

Curiosity surfaced now. "Is there no end to your secrets today?"

He pulled folded paper from his clothes but waited. "I know that every moment of every day I do everything I can to make you the most blissful you can be. I know you love what we created together and would do it the same if given the chance. And I know how much you forfeited for us, Mariyah." She opened her mouth, but he stuck the reward out. "I hope this will be a valuable contribution in my attempt to make up for your sacrifices."

She eyed the parchment then him suspiciously and took it. "What is this, I can only wonder?" She unfolded the item but only redirected her gaze after a playful smile.

He stood silently and watched her read the letter. Slowly, sentence by sentence, her face shifted from profound shock to tearful affection. He had not read it first, but Melchisidek's words were exactly right. When she finished, she could barely control the sobs. Her body fought the outbursts, and, after several beautiful minutes, she faced him.

"You, sir, are getting anything you want for the next ten years."

He laughed and stepped closer with a shake of his head. "I already have exactly what I want. Right here."

She smiled and leaned into his hand across her teardrops. "As do I." Then her arm hooked around his neck, and she grinned mischievously. "Now come here, Husband." He beamed and met her lips halfway.

* * *

_This ends the memoirs of Mariyah al-Qibtiyah, daughter of Melchisidek, wife of Herger, mother to Konur, Vidkun, and Idonea._

(Mariyah Qibtiyah) القبطية مريح

الحمد لله جزاك الله خيرا (Praise to Allah. May He reward you with all good.)

**The End**


End file.
